White Lines
by kalebxdd
Summary: The underground drug trade is a dark and dangerous world. One family is caught in the middle of it all; follow them as their ties with reality slowly erode away... A/U
1. Chapter 1

**Hello people! I'm back with a new story and I hope you'll enjoy it. I quickly want to thank the lovely Kanotari for doing an excellent beta job once again (as always) and I would also want to express my thanks towards gue22, and Stellae Micantes for giving me their honest opnions as I went through the first few rough drafts. Also a big thanks to Kakarot Son for helping me plot out this little gem. **

**Now, please read, review and enjoy!**

* * *

**Chapter 1.**

The young woman kept a solid pace in her step as she marched towards her destination, keeping a good eye on her surroundings as she crossed a road and took a shortcut through a narrow alleyway. It was nighttime and the slums of South City were a dangerous place to be in the late hours. These streets were renown for their incredibly high crime rate as well as the larger portion of the city's drug addicts owning either a house there or simply a cardboard box. Clusters of young men, probably armed and dangerous stood about on almost every street corner. A few of them whistled like howling wolves as she passed by, others shouted crude remarks in her direction. The woman merely rolled her eyes in response; it wasn't like she hadn't heard any of it before.

Even though she had walked this route over a dozen times before it never grew boring for the beauty. She liked to view herself as a people person and even while she couldn't possibly know what kind of thoughts circled around in the minds of inhabitants of the streets she still enjoyed trying to envision what their lives must be like. Living in such an incredibly poor part of the city brought along enough drama as it is and it certainly made for more interesting stories as well as more interesting people with more appealing personalities. Add that to the fact that most of them were also heavily addicted to at least one kind of sedative substance and you had the perfect recipe for a high-rating reality show.

Now, about the drug addicts she couldn't talk all that much trash. She herself had also become quite attached to the feeling of euphoria that she simply couldn't obtain all by herself. She too had fallen into the deceiving claws of illegal substances, and now she couldn't live a day without at least a proper white line to lift the spirits and clear the mind and take away the hunger that made her belly rumble day in and day out. In the back of her mind she resented herself for it deeply, but then another day would come and she would once again sigh in relief as she felt the tiny powdery white crystals go up her nostrils and slowly tore her nose open from the inside. The fog in her brains would clear and she would be content with herself for another day. This cycle had been going on for a good four years now.

The young woman was well on her way to getting her daily fix. She was only two blocks away from her usual pick-up address and if she had to believe the stories she had been told, her supplier happened to be the biggest drug runner in the entire southwestern district. So far he had been able to keep his sketchy business very underground, with information only being passed around in spoken words. Everybody called him 'Moon', a nickname which came into existence due to the full moon emblems printed on every ziplock bag used to keep the salesware together.

She crossed another street and hugged her slender arms along her waist. It was a cold night with a biting chill and secretly she berated herself for not bringing anything to keep herself warm in, but somebody in her field of work was best of dressed as scarcely as possible. The woman took a final right and marched on for a few yards more, halting in front of a seemingly closed coffee bar. The interior was pitch-dark and above the main entrance neon letters spelled the name of the establishment in a dim light across the black sky.

Even in her childhood years the woman had learned to not just judge a book by its cover; something which had become all the more clear to her during the years in which she had spiraled down in her substance abuse. She had been here before and she knew that there was more to this coffee corner than met the eye.

Quickly rummaging through her purse she found a small pink makeup mirror in between other personal artifacts. She flipped it open and used the light that the neon letters above her head provided to study her own reflection. She had made sure that the thick layer of beauty products brought out her deep cerulean eyes and her blonde short hair had been perfectly styled. Content with what she saw she tossed the mirror back into the deep and dark depths of her handbag and made sure that her clothes were on right, pulling the hem of her shirt down and exposing the better part of her full and curvy cleavage.

A small hand reached out and knuckles banged on the front door, the thick plexiglass trembling under the force. There she remained standing in silence for a minute or two, which she used to her advantage by scanning her surroundings and making sure that she wasn't being watched by prying eyes.

Mr. Moon had certainly chosen a fairly creepy location to keep his hideout. The streets around it were narrow and both of the stores, well what used to be stores, on either side were empty, giving the whole scene an eerie and lonesome look to it.

The door opened and a man with hair as black as the night opened, sending the young woman a curious glance. He was probably in his early forties; the small wrinkles around his eyes and the corners of his mouth gave that away. A scar in the form of a cross decorated his left cheek, as well a the vague outlines of an old cut across his right eye. What had left them there could be anyone's guess. Suddenly his features turned to a smile, as if he hadn't recognized her at first sight.

"Hey, Erasa," the man said as he opened to door and gestured for the blonde to come in. "Good to see you again, come in!"

Erasa gave a snicker at seeing his enthusiasm. This was Yamcha, ex-baseball player and a trusty friend of Moon. On most days he would basically act as a doorman, making sure that nobody entered his boss's hideout without him knowing. The first time that she had seen the knife he kept behind his belt for protection she had shuddered in fright; no matter how much she tried to avoid the thought, she couldn't help but wonder how many times Yamcha had cleaned someone's blood off of the shimmering and razor-sharp blade of the hunting knife. The way he always kept it spotless and shining unnerved her as well. The thought of being able to see your own reflection as your throat gets slit wasn't one that ensured her a solid eight hours of sleep.

"Hi Yamcha!" Erasa giggled as she stepped past the man into what still seemed to be an ordinary coffee house at first sight. She let out a small cackle of laughter as the ex-baseball player slapped her on the ass as she passed him. Even while Yamcha teased her sometimes the beauty knew that he had a soft spot in his heart for her.

She followed Yamcha to the back of the establishment and waited until he had unlocked the door furthest to the back. It swung open with a croak of protest, giving the duo a good view of the stairs which led down to the basement. The steps were dark and the lightbulb above their heads did little to illuminate the path downwards.

The doorman was the first to descend down the squeaking old wooden boards beneath. Erasa followed in close behind him and shut the door, the old piece of wood falling into its lock with an audible click. In the distance she could hear several voices, coming from a room at the end of a long hallway. A weak bundle of light shone from out the open door and bounced off of the grey stone walls tagged with graffiti. Laughter erupted from the room and the voices continued to grow clearer with every step that she took.

When she finally entered the room all eyes turned to her. There were three men in total, four counting Yamcha. She knew two of them by name; the other one had never told her his real name. The room itself was fairly spacey, with a few armchairs as well as a couch taking up the most space. Most of the furniture was old, but a single armchair seemed like it was made of the most expensive fabric that Erasa had ever seen.

"What's up, Erasa?" one of the men spoke. His blonde hair fell straight down over his broad shoulders and his exposed muscular upper arms. Normally he would be somewhat frightening to behold, but the way he was lazily lounging in an old and dusty armchair which seemed like it had been picked up on the side of the road gave him a laid back impression.

The blonde man usually went by the name of Sharpener, but whether or not that was his actual birth name Erasa wouldn't know. He was an underground boxing champion who had only lost a handful of fights in his entire life, something in which he prided himself constantly. But of course being an underground fighter wasn't exactly the most highly paid job in the world and the athletic man had found out that substance abuse and paying rent weren't easily manageable alongside each other. Much to his luck it turned out that Moon was looking for an employee like him, mainly to beat the living shit out of the competition and to retrieve information on opposing drug dealers. Sharpener's only demand was that he would be paid through substance instead of cash, to which Moon had agreed. Now every time he came back with useful info Moon would supply him with a good dose of brown or glitter, leaving him free to spend his actual paycheck on food and shelter.

"Hey Sharpener," Erasa replied, winking at the blonde and sending him a playful smile. She then turned her attention to the man lying on the couch with his fingers interlaced behind his head, staring up at the ceiling as if something terribly interesting could be seen in the cracked plaster.

"And hello to you too, Vegeta," the prostitute said, earning herself a nod in the form of a greeting. Vegeta stood closest to Moon in every possible way. Whenever the drug lord himself wasn't available it was up to this man with his unusually high and black widow's peak to make sure that the business remained up and running. He knew everything about shipments of narcotics coming in and out, and he frequently went out to close off deals and to make sure that they weren't being robbed out of their money. Yamcha had once told Erasa that Vegeta did all of the 'dirty work', something he himself liked to refer to as 'exterminating the vermin'.

But the blonde hadn't come for Vegeta or Sharpener, no. She had come to see the man sitting in the expensive chair, the man who was on top of everything. Even though she had been here many times before Erasa was still cautious as she approached him.

"Uhm, Mr. Moon," she mumbled. It was still a very intensifying experience to address the biggest drug runner in a radius of a few hundred miles. "I was wondering if you could fix me up with something."

'Mr. Moon' looked up from the magazine that he had been reading and flashed her a warm and kind smile, one that wasn't to be expected on someone of his 'profession', yet Erasa had seen those pearly whites more often during her three years of coming here and had grown accustomed to it. If she hadn't known any better she never would've guessed that this was the man responsible for supplying most of the junkies around.

"Well I'd love to say that Mr. Moon is my father, but that would be a lie," Moon said with a grin. "Still, simply Moon is more than enough Erasa, I thought I told you that before. And of course I could fix you up with a little something, but you know what I ask for in return."

Erasa didn't dare to look the drug runner in the eye after that. "S-S-See, that's the problem," she explained, all the while staring at the ground below her feet. "I don't have any money right now."

"Oh?" Moon exclaimed, obviously feigning his surprise. "Now that means that we have a problem, wouldn't you agree?" His hands met in front of his face at the fingertips, hands forming a triangle and his facial expressing what seemed like he was in deep thought. "And how were you planning on paying me if you don't have any money to buy the goods, if I might ask?"

Erasa swallowed hard. This wasn't the first time that she had come to see Moon without any money to fund her drug habit, yet every time she would walk out with at least a few grams of coke. It was the way in which she obtained it that made her feel disgusted with herself.

"I-I can perform other services, if it would please you," she answered. She had to force herself to put the words over her lips and once again she could feel a deep sting of hatred towards herself inside, yet the urge to snort coke and finally feel 'normal' again was so incredibly overwhelming that she saw no other option aside from whoring herself out and get paid in substance.

Moon was silent for a few seconds, his eyebrows furrowed as if in thought. When he answered his deep masculine voice echoed off the walls and into the long empty hallway.

"I'm certain that you could," he told the prostitute, "but you should know that I'm not interested in handing out drugs in trade for an hour of fun. But perhaps one of my men would like to help you out; I'm sure that they have enough goods to share with you."

A look of desperation crossed the young woman's face as she eyed the three other men in the room. All three of them remained silent at first, none of their faces giving away what their intentions could possibly be. Erasa could feel her stomach dropping at the thought of not being able to score tonight at all, but finally it was Sharpener who stepped forward and took her by the arm, dragging her along the hallway and dangling a small bag of cocaine back and forth in front of her face.

Moon kicked back in his chair a bit more when the two were out of sight. As of late business was rolling well and more and more profit was being made. And luckily for him nobody outside of this very room knew that Yamcha was actually in the drug business. The ex-baseball player had a few strong ties with the local police department and he was able to tell Moon that the case they were working on, the case regarding him and his shifty trades, was slowly running towards a dead end.

As he watched Vegeta grab a lighter in order to spark the joint that he had left in an ashtray he found himself happy that he had never resorted to the stuff himself and had opted to stay clean. Drugs could do weird stuff to people and he wouldn't want to see what would've become of him if he had gone down that path himself.

No, all he did was sell the stuff, nothing more, nothing less.

* * *

The man yawned as he stirred through his morning coffee, the soft tinkle of the spoon against the ceramic mug ringing through his head like a bell. He seated himself at the large oak-brown breakfast table and took a sip, delighted to feel some of the fatigue clouding his mind starting to clear up. A quick glance at the clock above the refrigerator told him that it was five o'clock in the morning. What had motivated him to wake up at such a godforsaken hour he wouldn't be able to recall. The incredible silence of the house made him feel drowsy. His wife and child were still far off in dreamland.

He pulled the newspaper closer and unfolded it, onyx eyes scanning the printing. But his mind wouldn't register the words this early in the morning, so he tossed the paper aside, sighing restlessly as he drank the rest of his scalding hot coffee down in one go. He might as well get ready for work if he wasn't going to get any more sleep.

His tired legs carried him to the bathroom and the quick pull of a string by the door was enough to illuminate the small space. He walked over to the sink and turned open the faucet. The splash of cold water in his face was a welcome refreshment and managed to wake him up for the better part. He turned his gaze to the mirror above the sink and studied his own reflection.

Eyes as dark as the earth stared back, their gaze hardened through the years. His firm and perfectly cut jawline was rough with a three-day-old stubble, the individual hairs hinting towards a shade of grey. He knew that it was a sign of his aging, just like the crow's feet that began to form around his eyes. He quickly combed a hand through spiky and pitch-black hair, finding that there was no possible way to stylise the thick locks.

After a quick shower and shave he tiptoed over to his bedroom as quietly as possible as to not wake up his sleeping wife. He picked out his work clothes; the official uniform of the South City police department. The middle-aged officer slipped into the blue trousers as well as the white vest that came along with it. Over the regular uniform he wore a yellow coat with the emblem of the SCPD sewn onto the sleeves.

He walked around the bed as silently as he could and took a minute to register the beautiful sight that was his sleeping wife. He messy raven hair covered up the better part of her graceful features, but she was stunning nonetheless. The man sank to his knees until his head was close to hers and pressed a kiss onto her cheek. The woman stirred and groggily opened her eyes.

"Huh," she groaned with a sleep-drunk voice. "Are you going to work already? It's not even five thirty in the morning."

"I know," her husband replied with a heavy sigh, "but I couldn't sleep so I decided that I might as well go and do something productive." He leaned over and kissed his wife on the lips. "Goodbye, Chi."

"Goodbye, sweetie, see you at dinner." The woman yawned as she turned under the covers, drifting back to sleep in a matter of seconds.

It was only a ten minute drive from his house to his work, but to Son Goku the small trip felt like it lasted for an eternity. Now that the tiredness was gone from his brain his mind couldn't stop mulling around in thoughts. He didn't even take notice of the other cars that passed him by with their bright headlights on the dark road.

For three years now, three long and hard working years had Goku been working on one single case. It kept him awake by day and haunted his dreams at night, so much that it had become a part of his being.

For three years he had been busy collecting evidence as well as information on the possible whereabouts of one single criminal was an absolute danger to each individual member of society and could almost be called a public health concern. He was a drug dealer, and a good one at that. According to the SCPD's data he could possibly be the biggest narcotic trafficker in the entire southwestern district. He went by the name of Moon, his nickname adopted from his trademarked full moon emblem.

Goku could very well remember how he had first gotten to know about Moon's illegal schemes and the memory wasn't one that he thought back to with joy in his heart. Three years prior he had been out on patrol with his partner when they had found a sixteen-year-old girl lying on the side of street. They quickly exited their vehicles and sprung to action, startled to see the teenager foaming at the mouth and breathing rapidly in panicked fashion. By the time the ambulance had arrived she was already dead. After searching through her clothes he had found a small zip-lock bag inside of her pants pocket, containing two small white oval pills with the Nintendo logo printed into them. Knowing that ecstasy pills were named by color and logo he concluded that the girl had suffered an MDMA overdose on the White Nintendos. Her heartbeat had been so wild and frantic that the pounding muscle in her chest had suddenly just stopped working.

A small full moon emblem had been printed on the bag of pills. At first Goku hadn't thought all that much of it, but over time more and more cases were reported of people being arrested under the influence of illegal substances. Whatever drug they were on was always concealed in a plastic bag with that little white moon on it. To the SCPD it became clear that a big underground organization was on the rise and it was posing a threat to the innocent civilians. A big investigation was set up to find the people responsible for the spreading of the narcotics.

At first the entire investigation had gone well. Small time drug dealers were frequently brought in along with their salesware, which was evidence that they worked in service of a man they all called Moon when questioned about him. Goku could ask for the man's actual name over and over again, but none of the criminals they plucked off the streets were able to help him any further. Other than that the operation went along smoothly and the police department continued to arrest dealers and prevent them from bringing dangerous substances out on the streets.

The biggest leap towards finding the notoire drug runner had to be when his partner had brought in a nineteen year old boy who had been arrested for carrying around over a pound of heroin on his body. The teenager had been able to tell him that Moon was to have a 'business meeting' with a client the following day, and that he would be arriving at a restaurant downtown as well as give the police a description of his car. They had sent an undercover officer to the scene to take photos of the suspect and just like they had been told a car fitting the description rolled to a stop at the appointed restaurant. Snapshots had been taken and then the SCPD had a clear image of what Moon looked like, sending them down the right path to closing the investigation.

Yet, Moon had managed to stay out of the iron grip of the law so far and had barely been spotted in the meantime. All the police had to work with were freeze frames of security cameras and one girl which had supposedly seen a man fitting his profile closing off a drug deal. Slowly the case began to aim at a dead end and the last few weeks there hadn't been any progress at all.

Goku parked his car on the lot in front of the police station. there were barely any vehicles there, and with good reason. The dark-haired man couldn't see why anyone would want to get to work this early. He exited his vehicle and locked it before trotting over to the main entrance at a brisk pace. The double doors had already been unlocked by another officer clocking in untimely early today so he was able to keep walking straight for his office. He found freshly made coffee on a cart near the lunchroom and hastily poured himself a cup right before slipping into his office on the other side of the hall.

The officer glanced around his office and could only sigh at the incredible mess. He found a place for his hot beverage and began to tidy up everything he had left behind the previous day. He silently cursed himself for not cleaning it up sooner, yet he knew that it would be the same thing again tomorrow.

The enormous stack of paperwork on his desk was the worst. Everything had to be put away neatly and systematically, since a lot of the documents held important details to major cases the SCPD were working on. After that it was mostly putting away personal artifacts. Like he did every day, the seasoned chief of police made certain that the small and thin nameplate was neatly aligned with the edge of his desk, allowing everybody who entered his office to read the name 'Son Goku'.

After tossing the emptied coffee cup into the trash Goku turned his attention towards the wall behind the big black oak wooden desk. While all the others were painted white and shading towards yellow this particular wall stood out completely. A giant map had been put up against it and file cabinets as well as electronic equipment had been moved to the other side of the room as to not take away any part of the map from sight.

The streets of Satan City curled out and unfurled like the branches of an eerie black and white tree, the grey specks of houses forming the canopy. Thumb tacks in an assortment of colors had been pressed into the paper and certain buildings or streets, mainly in the slums of the enormous City, had been circled in either red, yellow or blue.

Goku leaned back on his desk and tried to study the tangle of streets and roads more intently, the door to his office went open and a small, bald man walked in. He was wearing the same uniform as the veteran chief and he gave his colleague a nod of acknowledgement. Goku mimicked this action and addressed his partner and lifelong friend.

"Hi, Krillin," he greeted shortly before turning his attention back to the squiggly lines and colored circles. "You're awfully early this morning," he joked as the short man put his stuff away and went over to halt beside him.

"I could say the same of you," Krillin snickered as he rolled up his sleeves, leaving his lower arms bare. "I suppose that staring at that map hasn't revealed anything new so far?" He queried, obviously knowing the answer beforehand.

Goku merely shook his head. He had gone over everything depicted on the printing a million times, yet he never grew any wiser of it. Sometimes he felt like he was being mocked, that he was to look at the lines on the paper for all of eternity without drawing a solid conclusion.

"Well then," Krillin said as he reached for a stack of four folders still on Goku's desk. "Shall we go over everything before we start for another day of confusion and dead ends?"

After being met with an affirmative nod from his comrade Krillin took the top folder into both hands. It was a plain and simple white color and it was by far the thickest of them all.

"So this is the folder with information related to every single thumb tack on the map," the bald cop said as he let the big stack of papers slide through his fingers. "Every one of them represents a location where a drug dealer has been arrested while carrying substances in bags with a full moon emblem."

Said thumb tacks were scattered across the entirety of the the map and had been pinned in every suburb of the city, though the slums seemed like a more popular location to distribute drugs than in the heart of the city, where the upper class of Satan City's society lived.

"We also have all of their statements as well as personal data collected," Krillin continued. "We could've gone and pinpoint every place where one of Moon's baggies of misery was found, but that's kind of a no go since the the guy is all over the city. So far the dealers have only been able to tell us where some of the higher ranked drug lords in Moon's organization are trying to hide, but Moon's location is still unknown. Which brings us to our second folder."

The second one was red to match a few of the circles drawn in magic marker. All of them encircled houses, warehouses, even apartment buildings.

"All of the red circles are locations where we've knocked out the front door in the hope to see Moon lounging on the couch," Krillin told his friend, who obviously knew all of this already. "Yet on every search the place was completely abandoned and most of the time there weren't even any traces of anyone having been there for at least a year. At one location we did find a pill press used to make ecstasy pills, which has been taken away to the evidence lab."

Goku sullenly stared at the red marks on the map. To him it seemed like there were over a hundred of them, and in his eyes that meant a hundred failures. He eyed the other circles as well and found them to be in a lot lesser numbers than their crimson counterparts.

"Thirdly we have yellow. These are places where we think that Mr. Moon might be trying to keep himself hidden. We have multiple police officers keeping an eye out on the premises, taking note of whoever comes in and goes out at any given time."

"And that leaves us with the folder about possible shipment delivery locations," Goku mumbled. Krillin confirmed this.

"True," his best friend said. "Everything circled in blue are the places we think Moon has his narcotics delivered. Just a few weeks ago one of our undercover buddies has gotten to know someone who we believe could be one of Moon's most trusted a bit of luck we might be able to arrest the guy, but we will not be able to do that on the spot that easily due to a lack of evidence. We can, however, try to discover whether or not Moon has his drugs delivered at the same location and if it is one of his henchmen. If everything goes according to plan the deal will take place ... here." Krillin pointed out one of the blue circles situated by the South City Haven.

The short and bald cop put the stack of folders away and took down a photo that had been pinned to a board on the right wall. It was one of the snapshots that had been taken of Moon early on in the investigation. When Goku saw that all-too-familiar face he could feel anger starting to swell up inside him, his heart pounding like the ticking of a time bomb. Inky dark eyes looked right back at him from under a full head of equally dark hair trimmed short. Moon was fairly tall and lean and seemed like he spent some time in keeping his physique.

But it wasn't the fact that the man could probably win the Mr. Universe contest with ease, nor was it the fact that he sold dangerous substances to the common crowd that filled the experienced officer with disgust, no. What sickened him the most about this young man was that incredibly sly smile that curled his lips. He was smiling like there wasn't a single care in the world, like the police wasn't trying to hunt him down like a pack of wolves on a hurt baby deer.

"Honestly, Goku," Krillin said as he colleague put the photo away. "I have no idea how you can still be so hell bent on trying to bring Moon down," the small man began collecting his stuff for a morning of patrolling the slums in the search for clues.

The other one of the duo simply shrugged. "I don't know either, really," he confessed. For a part of it that was true. They were chasing this drug runner for over three years now already and the case only seemed to go bleaker with every day that came and went. Yet, Goku didn't want to give up this fight before he had either lost or won.

"I mean," Krillin explained as he threw his coat on. "No matter what way you look at it, he is and always will be your son." With those words he walked out of the office, leaving his partner alone to stare at a picture frame on his desk.

Goku reached out and grabbed the wooden picture frame, decorated with macaroni and an excessive amount of superglue. It depicted himself and his wife, happily smiling at the camera. A little boy was sitting on his daddy's shoulder, eyes and hair as black as the night and nearly identical to his father's.

Seeing the photo filled the middle-aged man with unmistakable sadness. The son in that photo was a stranger to him now, or dead would be a better suit.

_Oh, Gohan, where did it all go wrong...?_

* * *

His oatmeal tasted especially awful today. He barely even registered the taste as he stirred through the thick and squishy brown flakes drowned in a white sea of milk. A glance to his side revealed an empty seat, a sight that he had gotten accustomed much to his dismay.

To say that Son Goten's life had been an average one would be a downright lie. His father was barely even home as he was always busy with his work as a police officer. That empty chair would greet him every day for breakfast and it wasn't a rare thing for it to tell him goodnight as well. Goku worked hours that could even make the gods cry out for retirement while his mother spent the day cleaning, cooking, washing, doing laundry and so on.

As Goten swallowed down another mouth full of oatmeal he reasoned that that wouldn't even be all that unusual to most people. Sure, parents tend to work a lot more these days in order to keep a steady flow of money coming, but he was fairly certain that there wasn't a single father out there laden with the task on Son Goku's shoulders.

Chi-Chi waltzed into the kitchen while humming a happy tune, momentarily snapping the fourteen-year-old boy from his train of thought. Goten wanted to do his best and smile at the woman, but this morning he simply didn't feel like facing such a challenge. His mother must've picked up on this immediately, judging from the maternal tone that suddenly covered her usually somewhat stern voice.

"Goten? What's the matter, sweetie?" She queried as she draped her arms around his neck and placed a kiss on the boy's jet-black spikes. It was her way of trying to comfort him.

"Oh, it's nothing, Mom," he replied. He knew that lying or holding back the truth wouldn't do; Chi-Chi would see right through it. "It's just that I'm bummed out that Dad's not here for breakfast again." Suddenly feeling irritated he threw his spoon into the ceramic green bowl and shoved it aside, his appetite now completely spoiled..

"Honey," his mom began. This was the part where she would justify his father's continuous absence. She was always able to bring it with such aloofness, like it was the most normal thing in the world for a pubescent teenage boy to never see his father. "You know as well as I do that Daddy has to work so much in order to keep bread on the table. He can't help it that he's always gone for so long and I'm sure that he would change it if he could."

"Well maybe it's just because he loves his job a little too much," Goten retorted. "I can't see anyone working such ungodly hours for a few petty thefts and parking tickets."

The slight wince that his mother tried to hide from him felt satisfying to a degree.

"Maybe you're right, sweetie. Who knows." And that was the end of their discussion, no further arguments given.

Goten was no fool. Chi-Chi always told him that Goku worked such late hours due to the incredible amount of paperwork that his job came with, whether it'd be for an armed robbery or a murder case. But the young teen knew that that was a lie; he had overheard his parents talking on several occasions. While they believed him to be in bed he was actually keeping his ear pressed against the living room door as he listened to his father talk about his day of work.

It hadn't taken long for Goten to discover that his dad wasn't exactly your everyday police officer. The empty seat at the breakfast table was Gohan's fault, a young man Goten had once considered to be his big brother.

Yet, Gohan hadn't exactly been a son and brother to idolize. According to the stories that Mom always told him Gohan was arrested for the first time when he was only fifteen years old for the possession of cannabis, most likely in order to sell. In the years that followed, his big brother's crime spree had spiraled out of control so badly that three years ago he had decided to leave the house without saying a word, only to be never seen again.

In the note that Gohan had left, he mentioned that he had decided to disappear out of their lives because he couldn't stand inflicting such emotional pain on his family anymore, but Goten didn't believe that one bit. Chi-Chi had told him that before the eldest Son brother had left he was involved in a huge drug dealing scheme. She had said it with such venom in her voice that the kid didn't even dare to question her. Come to think of it his mother had never said a nice word about Gohan ever since his departure.

Goten absentmindedly got ready for school, the wide smile that Gohan had always flashed him haunting his thoughts. He wasn't sure what to think of his sibling after everything he had put their family through. Sure, he was doing some things that nearly everyone on the planet saw as something immoral, but Gohan had never seemed like a bad person to Goten. To him he was the cheerful playmate that he always loved to follow around and play hide and seek with.

No, he couldn't think like that! Gohan had hurt his mother more than anyone had ever done and it had caused his father to grow obsessed with finding him. Goten assumed that the queasy feeling in his stomach whenever the subject arose was hatred; what else could it be? Gohan had done things that most people didn't even dare think about doing. Goku should try his very best and arrest his big brother as soon as possible. He should be brought to justice for the crimes that he had committed...right?

He pressed a kiss on Chi-Chi's cheek and told the woman goodbye. Ever since the older Son boy had taken his leave the used-to-be mother of two had begun spoiling her little one to near perfection. There was nothing that Goten could do wrong in her perspective and he hated that. He hated it that his entire life was being decided by the actions of someone who nobody even saw anymore.

He barged out the door, an annoyed expression on his face. Secretly he really wanted to see Gohan again despite everything else, but he knew that his parents would never allow it and he had no idea where to go find him in the first place. All he could do was try and not turn out like Gohan. That would be an easy enough task_... right?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Sooooo... chapter 2 here... cool!  
Please read, review and enjoy :)**

**Chapter 2.**

Goten barely even took the trouble to lift his legs properly as he dragged his feet across the long and crowded blue-tiled hallway. His expression left little to the imagination and judging by the way his charcoal eyes never left the ground below him it was obvious to anyone who passed by that he wasn't in the mood to socialize, He barely even listened to the noisy chit-chatter that his peers around him produced; not that he cared about their shallow problems and issues anyway. Right now he would much rather sit in silence and close himself off from society, take some time for himself without having to deal with people who thought they would be able to help him.

_Yeah, right, like anyone would be able to help me. These people all have such perfect lives. Their biggest concerns are broken nails and the scratches on their cars. Maybe they should try stepping in my shoes for a day to see what it feels like to really be troubled._

The way to his locker seemed to be endless as the teenager shouldered his way past kids twice his own size, never even regarding the angry glares they sent in his direction. They hated him for all he knew and frankly the boy saw it as a good thing. It meant that they would leave him to himself; nobody wanted to hang out with the weird kid that never put on a smile.

Finally reaching his locker, Goten opened the thin metal door as if on autopilot, shoving his unneeded possessions inside before slamming it closed again. There he remained standing for a second or two, the cold touch under his fingertips feeling strangely comforting. Maybe he could lock himself up here and never see the light of day again. One could always hope.

School had never really been his favorite way to spend the day, but ever since his brother had left the house things had really gone downhill. Gohan's departure had struck the boy so hard that he had closed himself off from the rest of the school, alienating himself from the people that he used to call friends. Instead of spending his weekends amongst peers having fun he chose to lock himself in his room and cry his eyes out, muffling his sobs into his pillow so his mother wouldn't hear.

Goten couldn't help but snicker at the thought. It sounded pathetic even in his own head. He let out a sigh and combed a hand through his thick black locks. While he wouldn't mind staring at his locker for the rest of the day and maybe even a few more, it was time to get to class.

He turned around to march towards his destined classroom, but it only took him a few steps to walk into something massive and to be knocked back against the row of steel lockers. The teen looked up and immediately noticed a boy, probably about a year older than he was, hunching over a dozen sheets of paper scattered across the floor. He was twice Goten's size at least, and that was just a rough estimate. He wore the official shirt for the school's wrestling team. The expression on his face as he turned to said teenager was in the least to say unamused.

The jock stood back upright, eyebrows knitted together in an angry frown. To say that he towered over the younger boy would be an understatement. A hand the size of a dinner plate shot forward, index finger poking hard into Goten's chest.

"YOU!" The athletic youngster bellowed as he looked down at his potential victim.

The other boy's expression was stone cold, not a single trace of emotion on his features.

"What?" The reply was distant, yet even the deaf would've been able to hear the sharp edge in its tone. The larger one of the two clearly hadn't expected such a reaction and it seemed that Goten showing no interest in him whatsoever only pissed him off even more. The veins in his temples began to swell and made him look even more intimidating to everyone but the dark-eyed kid.

"Who do you think you are?" The jock yelled, adding another extra decibels to the volume. He leaned over until his face was only a few inches away of Goten's. "Are you trying to make me look like an idiot? Do you even know who you're dealing with?"

A crowd was slowly beginning to form around the two arguing teens. The Son boy could feel the prying eyes staring at them, waiting for someone to make the first move and turn the battle words into a fight with fists. He had to hide the smirk that tugged at his lips. Apparently the guy in front of him had no idea who he was dealing with.

"Of course I do, Walter," Goten replied without even casting as much as a glance at the angry kid. "You're the guy everybody keeps talking about. They call you Illy Willy Walter when you're not around, did you know that?"

Walter's face flushed a deep crimson as the group surrounding them burst out into a wave of laughter. The pointing fingers and mockery only added to his anger and the grin that played around the younger boy's lip seemed to be the last drop.

"NOW LISTEN UP, YOU LITTLE SHIT!" he nearly screamed at the top of his lungs, startling the life out of half the people present in the busy hallway. "If you have the nerve to talk to me like that one more time that dad of yours will have somebody else to lock up aside from your piece of trash brother."

That struck a nerve with Goten and much to Walter's pleasure the smile faded from his features as soon as it had appeared. The kid stood with his gaze cast at the floor, onyx eyes shielded from view by a bush of inky dark strands. He trembled all over his form and the urge to act upon his anger with nearly uncontrollable.

'W-What did you say?" Goten growled, his voice laced with pure rage. "What did you just say?" He took a step forward, causing the crowd around them to let out a string of gasps, anxiously waiting to see who would throw the first punch.

"You heard me," Walter said, clearly not impressed by the other teenager's sudden aggressiveness. "You are not a hair better than that junkie brother of yours. And look at me when you're talking to me, or do I need to turn those pretty black eyes blue?"

"Why don't you try me?"

For a split second the look on the jock's face was one of total confusion. This was probably the first time someone had ever had the guts to talk back to him like that.

"What's the matter?" Goten chuckled. With a sway of his head he swept the hair from his eyes, a glint of amusement shimmering in his deep and dark orbs. "Are you scared or something?"

The crowd around them started to chant: "FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!"

That was enough to drive Walter over the edge. He let out a primal roar before hurling a fist at the Son kid the size of a small boulder.

It all happened so fast that the stories about the whole ordeal that would quickly travel through the school spoke of Goten responding as quick as a shadow. The smaller one of the two caught the flying fist effortlessly and gave a rough pull, causing the athletic teen to stumble over forward. Before he could do anything the black-haired boy slammed his own fist into the sportsman's chin, snapping his head backwards with a loud thud as it connected.

While Walter was still counting the stars that blurred his vision Goten yanked at his arm once again, but this time deftly stepped aside to let his broad-shouldered adversary slam his face into a row of lockers hard enough to knock him out cold instantly and to let the sound of ringing steel fill the hallway.

Goten completely ignored the baffled stares coming his way as he stepped over the unconscious loud-mouth, nonchalantly swinging his backpack over his shoulder in the motion. He remained silent as he turned around and marched away while the doorbell rang to announce the start of class for the day.

The day slowly crept by, far too slowly for Goten's liking. This was how it would always go. He'd sit out his classes in anticipation of recess, and after that it was just a matter of watching the arms on the clock slowly creep towards the time of the final bell. The endless droning of his teachers would always cause him to zone out and spend most of the day peering out of the window or scribbling along the edges of his notebook.

When it was finally time for lunch break the teen was the first to leave the classroom with a solid zip in his step to avoid the enormous mass of students that were to flood the the hallways any given moment. He took a quick shortcut through the stairs by the fire escape and in no time he found himself on the roof of the school. The sight of complete desolation pleased him.

A feeling of relaxation washed over him as he sat down cross-legged. The sun was shining brightly and the warmth of it caressed his skin. It only took a minute or so to grab his lunch and sink the first bite into a delicious sandwich that his mother had prepared for him. He enjoyed the silence while he ate.

Halfway through his solitary meal the door to the fire escapes opened. The black-haired boy looked up to see a kid of about his age group closing the door behind him. When the two met eyes Goten greeted him with a nod as to not defy the table manners that his mother had hammered in.

The young man was about an inch taller than the son of Goku, hadn't it been for Goten's gravity-defying hair towering over him. With quite a bush of extraordinary locks himself, a full head of lilac strands, picking him out of a crowd would've been like stealing candy from a toddler. He dropped himself down by the other teen.

"Yo, Trunks," Goten greeted. Trunks had been his best friend for as long as he remembered. The Briefs kid was a year older than he was and had been the only one that Goten could turn to in the past three years. While he had alienated the rest of his friends and most of his family the fifteen year old had always been able to put a smile to his face.

"Goten," the purple-haired one of the duo acknowledged the other.

"So, is it true what I heard?" Trunks queried to which the younger friend cocked an eyebrow. "Did you really knock Illy Willy Walter's lights out this morning?" He grinned widely and his azure eyes glimmered at the thought of knowing the truth.

Goten couldn't help but feel a bit annoyed at the question. Of course it had felt great to knock Wally down a few pegs, but he still didn't want to be reminded of it. The bully's harsh words still rang through his mind. They had stung harder than he would've liked.

"Yeah, it's true," he confessed as he tossed his half-eaten sandwich back into his lunch box. "But it didn't feel satisfying or anything," he added upon seeing the Briefs boy's smirk grow even wider. "I just gave that ass what was coming to him, that's all."

"Of course, of course," Trunks agreed as he reached into the vest pocket. "It was about time that someone smacked some sense into that guy anyway." he took a pack of cigarettes out and put one on his lips, holding out the carton to Goten. Said boy shrugged and Trunks put the cancerous sticks away after lighting his own.

"Do your parents know that you smoke those things anyway?" the black-haired boy asked as watched his best friend spew out a cloud of smoke into the atmosphere.

"Well, I haven't heard about them about it yet," Trunks admitted. "But last night I saw Mom using the lighter I think I lost. She must've snatched it off of my desk." The duo shared a good laugh at that.

"So what did that Walter tell you," the lilac-haired fifteen year old asked after the laughter had died down. "He must've ticked you off one way or another, seeing how you probably broke his jaw."

Goten eyed the ground below him for a second or two. He didn't want to repeat the jock's words, but he knew that his best friend would never allow him to leave without knowing every juicy little detail about the story, a trait that he had inherited from his gossip-crazed mother.

"He called me a little shit," the Son teen explained. "And then he told me that after he was through with me that my dad would have someone else to lock up aside from my 'junkie brother'." He clenched a fist and dug his fingernails deep into his skin. His jaw clenched and his eyebrows knitted together in an angry frown.

"At least I punched him right into his big mouth." he hissed through gritted teeth.

"Too bad for him he never knew that you've been training in martial arts for the last nine years," Trunks chuckled in glee. "That blow must've startled him like the headlights of an eighteen wheeler do a deer."

That didn't console the other boy any bit. The sullen look his charcoal eyes didn't fade, nor did a smile curl his lips and grace features.

"If it helps any bit," Trunks said, nudging his companion in the shoulder. "You're not the only one with family troubles right now. My mother suspects my dad of cheating on her. He always leaves the house at irregular times and never informs anyone what he's doing while he's gone. I don't think Dad would be so low to cheat on Mom, but I wouldn't have a clue as to what he does."

The two boys' stares met through a curtain of cigarette smoke. Then, finally, the right corner of Goten's mouth curled upward ever so lightly.

"Thanks, Trunks."

"No worries, Goten."

* * *

Goku had always disliked the interrogation room at the South City Police Station, with its somber grey walls and depressing ambience. This was the place where the biggest criminals known to mankind would either confess their crimes or plead themselves not guilty for so long that they would start to believe their own lies. The cold and humid air didn't help the image of the place one bit.

Yet, today the room reflected his mood better than ever. His morning hadn't started off filled with hope of a breakthrough anyway and that feeling of hopelessness and underachievement only grew worse as the day passed by. And now here he stood, arms crossed and absentmindedly staring through the one way mirror that separated the room.

The man watched as his partner Krillin seated himself on a chair by a table as grey as the walls and ceiling. A single lightbulb dangled above the short cop's bald head, illuminating only half of the room and leaving the rest shrouded in darkness. Across from him sat a young blonde woman so scarcely dressed that Goku wondered why she had even bothered to clothe herself at all.

With a simple flick of a button the black-haired officer turned on the speakers and the sound of Krillin rasping his throat became audible. Charcoal eyes studied the scene intently from under a furrowed brow and saw how said man leaned over forward, supporting himself on his elbows.

"So," Krillin spoke in a distant tone, his fingers interlacing in front of his face. "I'm simply going to assume that you know why we brought you here, is that correct?"

"You tell me," Erasa replied without as much as regarding the cop across the table. "I was just walking down the streets when suddenly you bunch appear out of nowhere and put me in handcuffs."

Goku rubbed his temples at the statement. This one wasn't going to be of any help either, he knew. Just like the one before her and the one before that. It was always the same.

Erasa had been arrested in the slums of the city as she was making her rounds, looking for any male companions who she could pleasure for a negotiable price. When they had put cuffs on her and searched her for weapons or anything else illegal officer Son had actually felt delighted when his fingers felt the texture of a plastic bag. Upon pulling it out he had immediately spotted the full moon emblem that he nearly dedicated his life to and that had been reason enough to bring the prostitute in for questioning. He had the faintest glimmer of hope that she might be able to tell him more about Gohan's whereabouts. So far not a single one of the people they had questioned, whether it would be a dealer, buyer, prostitute or just your everyday businessman, had been able to pinpoint 'Moon's' location.

Goku watched as Krillin took out the evidence they held against Erasa.

"Do you see this?" he queried with an eyebrow cocked. "Would you like to elaborate on why you are carrying around multiple grams of cocaine, something which is in strong violation with the law?" He tapped his middle finger to the plastic, causing a few of the crystals that had stuck to the side to fall off.

The police chief didn't fail to notice Erasa scratching under her nose at the mention of the drug. It was a habit which he had seen on multiple drug addicts that preferred to snort over anything. The whore was likely to already feel uneasy, now that she had come down from her substance-induced high.

"So what," the blonde shrugged her shoulders. "I know it's illegal but I need my daily fix. I can't help it that you people just have to go and arrest me for a little baggie of powder." She crossed her arms and threw her feet on the table, leaning her weight back in her chair and balancing it on two legs.

"We arrested you for 'a little baggie of powder', because it's a very dangerous substance that we don't want to see out on the streets," the bald man told her strictly. "And if there's one thing we don't like it's the people selling this junk." Krillin threw the bag of cocaine onto the steel table, disregarding it.

Erasa frowned. "What the hell are you talking about?" she asked, almost offended. "I don't sell drugs! Do you honestly think that I would be that stupid?"

"Oh, but I wasn't talking about you," Krillin replied. "Who I have in mind is someone far more dangerous to the people in our city. I assume that you've heard the name 'Mr. Moon' before?"

"Mr. Moon?" Erasa began to laugh. "Isn't he the man that writes the daily horoscope?"

Goku grit his teeth and balled his fists. He knew that the prostitute was holding back information, he just knew it! Yet he could already tell that she wasn't going to budge. And since she didn't have anything in records that could be related back to drug abuse all they could do was throw her into the cell they used to let people sober up. It was a room much like this one, but only more cramped and occupied by at least five or six people at any given moment. A lot of people had the tendency to start feeling ill once they were locked up and that resulted in it being the filthiest place in the police station. Secretly Goku hoped that a spending a few hours in the midst of paranoid heroin shooters and the smell of piss and vomit would make Erasa have a change of heart, but he knew that the odds were very slim. She wouldn't cave in that easily and at the end of the day she would be released back onto the streets.

GAAAH! This was so frustrating!

* * *

"Great, just great." Goten muttered to himself as he shuffled down the deserted hallways. All the students in the school were attending classes and he should be too, yet they simply had to go and call him into the principal's office. Just great.

He knew what he had done wrong, obviously. They certainly weren't going to punish him for scoring top-notch grades or actually handing in assigned projects, unlike most of his classmates. Apparently Illy Willy Walter couldn't resist the urge to squeal like a little piggy, claiming to be the victim. The thought of what the jock might have said about what happened made Goten laugh.

He probably should've felt bad about entering the principal's office with a big smirk on his face, but as of today he simply didn't care anymore. Everyone in this school could fuck themselves for all he cared. He wasn't going to let them bring him down any longer, and punching Wally's lights out was the first step that he had taken towards his self-improvement.

Determined to not let anyone get in his way he sat himself down in front of the big hardwood desk. The poor kid that had to endure one of Goten's furious punches was there already and it amused the Son boy to no end to see him scoot as far away from him as possible. When Walter met his eyes the temptation to wink was simply irresistable. Walter gulped, making the other teenager chuckle.

When Goten looked across the desk the head of the school was glaring daggers at him over the rim of his glasses. The man usually went by the name of Mr. Johnson.

"Son Goten," Mr. Johnson said in an icy cool baritone voice. "Do you know why I had you called in here?"

Said boy was about to reply, Walter answered before he could.

"He dragged you in here because you beat me up," the still terrified young man accused with a pointing finger. "You hit me so hard that I lost consciousness!"

Goten's onyx orbs pierced right through the athletic youngster with a mean glare before turning his attention to Mr. Johnson, who was awaiting his word on the matter.

"Is this true, Mr. Son?"

"I guess so," Goten confessed. There was no use in denying, half the school had seen what had ensued before the morning classes. "But in all fairness, Walter had it coming." The kid made sure to give the last sentence just a little extra bite.

The principal gave him a stern look. Not that it surprised the black-haired teen; he was trying to justify beating up a co-student after all. But in his eyes this was all so pointless. That blow to the head he had delivered had made certain that he was no longer a subject to Wally's relentless harassment and the head of the school knew just as well as he did that he was merely standing up for himself. It hadn't exactly been a secret that Goten wasn't the most beloved boy in school and his mother had urged the teachers and other staff more than once to do something about the bullying aimed towards her son. Yet the school had failed to do its job properly and Goten had decided to take matters into his own hands. It just hadn't been the most conventional of ways.

"WHAT?" Walter cried out loudly, feigning surprise. "I didn't do anything! You attacked me like some wild beast!"

"Mr. Son," Johnson said with a soft tut. "No matter what your classmate may have done to aggravate you, the use of violence will always be frowned upon. We solve our problems with words, not with fists."

Goten grimaced at the conversation was beginning to annoy him and he knew that he would get angry if he didn't watch out.

"Well, sir," he had to force the courtesies over his lips. "Does that mean that insulting my so called 'junkie brother' counts as a solid argument? Is telling me that I'm a, in Walter's words, 'little shit' a proper way to settle an argument?"

The principal arched a brow and gave the bully a stare, who was trying his best to act like the victim and seem innocent. He then turned back to the Son boy, sighed once, took of his glasses and gave him a look of which Goten believed it was one of understanding.

"Although I cannot condone Walter's uncalled for claims and insults," Mr. Johnson said with a voice much softer than before. "This school still deems violence unacceptable. I understand that the subject of your classmate's mockery is a very complicated one, but that is still no reason to cause him harm. You will be suspended for the rest of the week and your parents will be notified of your wrongdoings."

"Fine then!" Goten replied with harsh tone, anger clear in his features. He jumped up from his chair, the wooden legs screeching over the floor. He stared back at the principal with furious brown eyes from under a knitted brow, "But you know just as well as I do how much I had to put up with! Not only what happens in my private life, but also the shit that I have to endure day in and day out in this hellhole that you call 'school'!"

He slammed his hands down on the big desk that separated him from the head of the school, making sure to maintain solid eye contact with the man.

"Well I can tell you this: I'm done, through with it, over and out. I won't be pushed around any longer. Today, for the first time in my life I have taken matters into my own hands, and it is one of the best things that I have ever done. I don't care that you think of it as wrong. I did what I had to do and you know that too. You can punish me if you will and see if that changes anything."

After that he grabbed his backpack from behind him and slung it over his shoulder before turning around and marching out of the principal's office, slamming the door shut with a loud thud.

* * *

Laughter rang from the cold and stony walls, a sound that Mr. Moon loved more than anything. He watched his trusted associates and friends poke fun and trade jokes from the comforting embrace of his armchair. As usual, Vegeta was lounging on the couch as he listened to Yamcha brag about something that had happened the previous night. Sharpener was busy cutting up cocaine crystals with a credit card, dividing the white powder into small white lines across the reflective surface.

The grey walls made the air chilly and released an odd aroma, which mingled strangely sweet with the smell of pot smoke that the man with the widows peak spewed into the atmosphere from time to time. Gohan took delight in it. It gave a sense of relaxation.

"Oh, don't try to to fool me," Vegeta bellowed in laughter as he tapped the ashes from his joint into an ashtray. "That never happened."

"It did so!" Yamcha protested sputtering. "I swear! I woke up the next morning, chained to my bed with my pants around my ankles and the bitch has fled my house with my TV and several pieces of jewelry!"

"Yeah right," the blonde boxer replied as he lifted the mirror from the table and used his free hand to roll up a dollar bill. "And bears came in while you slept and raided your fridge."

Yamcha sighed in irritation, pulling out his hunting knife and a piece of cloth. "Why do you guys never take me seriously?" he whined as he began polishing the razor-sharp steel.

"Because," Sharpener replied. "What girl would be stupid enough to go home with you?" The man brought the improvised straw to his nostril and put the end on the mirror before snorting deeply, dragging the green bill across the surface and leaving only a few specks of white powder to slowly bite it's way through the glass. He gasped softly as the crystals tore up his nose from the inside and rubbed the bridge for comfort.

"W-What?" The ex-baseball player cried out loudly, more amazed than offended. Vegeta chuckled and blew out more smoke, letting rings of it fly out of his mouth and watching them slowly swirl towards the ceiling. Gohan laughed as well, but more so at Yamcha's reaction.

When the laughter died down and the doorman's face had returned to its regular color Mr. Moon leaned over in his armchair, effectively grasping the attention of his business partners.

"Gentlemen," Gohan said as he let his gaze travel over the other men present in the room. "We have some business to discuss."

All three of his associates acknowledged this with a small nod.

"Okay, let's get right down to it then," the drug runner said as he pulled out a map of the city. He unfolded the paper and spread it across the table, the many, many squirming and wiggling lines that were the streets of South City crawling from end to end. "As i have told you before, there has been a lot of deliberation with a man who calls himself the Happy Chef."

Once again, three head nodded a silent 'yes'.

"The Happy Chef is one of those people who enjoys spending his free time cooking up all kinds of strange recipes and mixtures, mixtures that we would like to get our hands on." Gohan continued, his voice growing softer as though they were being eavesdropped on. "I've been in contact with him for about three weeks now and I've been trying to persuade him into selling his goods to us from the beginning. He fears that because we are such a big and powerful organization he'll get caught and arrested. I assured him that there was nothing to be afraid of and two days ago he agreed on a trade."

The most wanted man in possibly the entire Southern district leaned over and put a finger on the map on the table, right by the dot that indicated South City Haven.

"He is to send one of his men to the docks tomorrow afternoon at two o'clock sharp," Gohan explained the new details to his so-called friends. "This man will be delivering a shipment of narcotics by boat, so he asked to have the trade take place there. He also suggested that I sent out one of my men to close the deal."

Yamcha was about to rise up and most likely claim the job, but his boss gestured for him to remain seated.

"Now, this is where things get a bit complicated," Mr. Moon said, his brow furrowing. "the Happy Chef told me he has a shipment of both cocaine and heroin, a grand total of two thousand pounds."

All three men grew wide-eyed, mouths slightly ajar.

"Exactly," Gohan responded to their expressions. "While that may sound like quite a catch, there is something that concerns me. The price Chef suggested for the entire shipment is several thousand dollars lower than its street value. Either the man wants to get rid of what he's trying to sell, or this is a set-up."

The young man was well aware of the South City Police department trying to track him down and it wouldn't come as a surprise to him if they were trying to lure him in. The low price in narcotics had kept him on guard.

"So, as you may well understand," Gohan said as he gave his associates an intent look. "I want this matter to be dealt with as carefully as possible." He shifted in his armchair, his long fingers playing and circling around the studs inlaid on the front of the armrest.

"And yes, I will go through with this," he stated when he noticed Sharpener open his mouth to protest. "I know the risk is high, but it's one that we're going to have to take. If this deal is legitimate then we have to go for it. And, if it so happens to be a set-up, we have to make certain that our organization isn't endangered, whatever it takes."

The drug runner turned to the man he viewed as his right hand. Vegeta was smirking at him, trails of smoke whirling out of his nostrils.

"Are you up for the job?"

"But of course," Vegeta replied as he pressed his joint out in the ashtray. "You had me at 'whatever it takes'." he smirked again, something that was returned by his leader.

"But just in case," Gohan remarked while running a hand through his black strands. "Make sure that you speak about who we are and what we do as little as possible, even when we aren't being hoaxed. I don't like curious ears. Yamcha?"

The retired baseball player cocked an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"Do you know anything new about my father's manhunt?" Moon queried.

"Nah, just the same old, same old," came the reply. "He and Krillin continue to run on dead ends and the ones that they do arrest keep their mouths shut."

This brought a smile to Gohan's face.

"Excellent."


	3. Chapter 3

**Wooohooo! Chapter 3! **

**Please read, review and enjoy!**

**Chapter 3**

South City's docks were awfully quiet today. Vegeta sighed and glanced at the watch around his wrist, ignoring the light sputter of the waves crashing down on the shores.

1.55 PM. Five more minutes until the subordinate of this 'Happy Chef' would arrive. The black-haired assassin glanced about his surroundings, making sure that there was no one spying on him or lurking around a corner.

Gohan was definitely running a huge risk here, Vegeta knew. He had gone and closed a deal with a man he had never personally met before and agreed to making the goods-for-cash exchange at a fairly public location. It was almost as if this dealer guy wanted to get caught.

The man tightened his grip around the handle of the suitcase he was holding, as if he wanted to reassure himself that it was still there. He never minded going out of his way to take care of some of Moon's more dirtier businesses, but he had always been wary when it came to handling large amounts of money. In the leather bundle he held there were probably more green bills than the average working man would make in three years. And that was only if you didn't count the other two briefcases he had hidden behind a wooden pillar.

Then again, he couldn't deny that he was enjoying the thrill of the whole situation. It all seemed like the perfect setup for the final showdown in an action movie. A drug dealer has offered terms to one of his colleagues that simply can't be refused, asking for the two parties to meet in one of the city's grey areas so the trade can be completed. In those movies the 'bad guys', or dealers if you will, always dived right into it, their proper judgement clouded by their hunger for money and the extreme bargain that they're being offered. Of course it would all turn out to be a setup and the blue rats would bust out with guns held high, cuffing everyone on the premises that raised even the slightest bit of suspicion. Vegeta considered himself lucky that Gohan wasn't that stupid, but there was still a certain tension feelable. And that was the feeling that Vegeta loved more than anything.

He eyed the arms on his watch again. 1.57, only three more minutes to go.

Moon's right hand pulled a cone out of his pocket and popped off the cap, letting the pre-rolled joint he had stored inside slide out. He placed the thing on his lip and lit it swiftly with a lighter he seemed to have pulled out of nowhere. He slowly began pacing back and forth across the wooden boards of the dock impatiently, professionally spewing rings of smoke into the air. This guy should better hurry up; if Vegeta lost his patience he wasn't the most reasonable of men.

As the last minutes crept by Vegeta decided to use his mind for the good and was mulling over ways to help this guy he was supposed to meet out of his misery, should he be an undercover cop sent to bust him and the whole organization behind his back. He'd promised Moon that if this should be the case, he would ice the bastard before he would be able to call for backup.

"H-Hello?"

Vegeta was snapped out of his thoughts at the voice and turned around to uncover the source. It belonged to a man he estimated to be in his mid twenties, although the shaggy blonde hair and the slobbery tracksuit gave the assassin the idea that he was still sixteen in his head.

So this was the person that had to represent 'The Happy Chef'. Vegeta did his best to get a proper reading of this guy, but he didn't like the way he tried to half-conceal his features under the hood of his jacket. The nervous stutter that had taken over his voice during his greeting certainly hadn't gone unnoticed either. Either this low-life was afraid of being hurt, maimed or worse, or he was hiding something. Vegeta reached behind his belt to double check and he felt his confidence rise when the cool metal of his revolver touched his fingertips. If this was a setup the man standing across from him would have to be mopped off the docks.

"Hi," came the short reply. Vegeta's gaze hardened as he looked the Happy Chef's subordinate. "Are you the one I'm supposed to meet here at two o'clock sharp?"

Happy Chef's underling nodded nervously. "Yeah, I was sent here to close off a deal. My boss told me I'd be able to find you here." He looked over both his shoulders, checking his surroundings for any unwanted peeping toms. "Did you bring the money?"

The assassin's eyes narrowed to slits in suspicion. This guy was quick to jump to the matter of business. Cautiously he lifted the briefcase in his hand to eye level and undid the locks in a flash. With a quick movement of his thumbs he flipped the leather container open.

Vegeta was certain that the guy's pupils dilated upon seeing the stacks of dollar bills neatly piled up into the briefcase, even if he couldn't see his face. The man across from him momentarily reached out with trembling fingers, but then quickly pulled his hand back. He rasped his throat before speaking.

"A-And the rest?' he said as he ran a hand through his unruly blonde bangs. "This is probably not even half of the money we agreed on."

Vegeta didn't reply as he stalked off to the hiding place of the two other briefcases. Pulling them out from behind the pillar, the black-haired criminal was certain that he saw a tiny smile curl around the other man's lips, prompting him to keep his guard up. Once again he instinctively reached for the revolver tucked into his belt.

The assassin slowly trotted over to the young man, who was having a harder time deflecting his gaze than before. He halted in front of him and there was a brief moment of silence between the two. In that short period of time, Vegeta managed to glimpse the eyes of his adversary. They were a strange tinge of green, tinted with a shade of grey that gave them a mysterious look. Much to his dislike, those orbs stood observant and very, very watchful of whatever happened around them, as if someone could crash the scene any minute and do something horrible that he had to be prepared for. Now Moon's right hand was certain that the Happy Chef's subordinate was not to be trusted. Perhaps he should do something to give the guy a good scare and show him know who he was dealing with.

"Where are the goods?" Vegeta grunted as he dangled the three cases in front of the blonde's face. "I bet your boss would be very happy to receive these. You wouldn't want to disappoint him, now would you?" He smirked when he noticed the other dealer shake his head feverishly.

"The goods are over there," the low-life said, gesturing towards an enormous row of containers. "I hid them in one of those."

Vegeta's smirk grew wider. He had this guy right where he wanted him. "Walk with me," he commanded, short but simple. Upon seeing the dealer's quizzical expression he added. "Did you really think I'd let you stay here and run off with my boss's money? What would I tell him if that container you pointed out happens to be empty? Or even worse, packed with those blue rats that call themselves police officers?" His stare became icy as he glanced over at the man who was so desperately after the small fortune that he clutched in his palm. Said man gulped softly.

Without uttering as much as a single word further Vegeta began to walk, albeit slowly. He nudged his head and was pleased to hear another set of footsteps tapping down on the wooden boards of the South City docks. The black-haired man made certain that his revolver was concealed properly, seeing how the blonde didn't seem to feel an urge to walk next to him.

"What's your name, boy?" Vegeta queried, putting extra emphasis on the last word. He almost had to chuckle when he heard an offended huff coming from the 'boy' behind him.

"My name is Shaggy," he bit, venom in his voice. "And I'm not a boy. I'm twenty-four years old!"

The assassin had to suppress the urge to slap himself in the face. Of course this guy's name was Shaggy... how could it be anything else? The duo turned a corner. It would only take them a few more hundred yards to reach the container that Shaggy had pointed out. Vegeta was more on his guard than ever, scanning every single detail of his surroundings from the corners of his eyes.

"So...Shaggy, is it?" Vegeta said, not really expecting a reply. "Tell me. Exactly why is a young man like yourself involved in such a sketchy organization? The underbelly of the criminal world doesn't exactly seem like a place you'd fit in all too perfectly."

Shaggy raised a brow in curiosity. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Vegeta scoffed. "Isn't that obvious?" he laughed. "You're one of the most nervous drug dealers I've ever encountered in my career. It's almost as if you're trying to hide something from me." Vegeta's eyes narrowed to slits as he looked over his shoulder. He did not like it one bit that Shaggy stopped dead in his tracks.

"What's the matter?" Moon's personal exterminator said, his voice gruff and lowered in volume. "Did I hit a nerve there? Did I just say something that I wasn't supposed to know?" He stepped forward and was delighted to see the low-life take a step back twice as big. "You know what they call me among my friends and associates, boy?"

Shaggy gulped and shook his head. Vegeta took another step in his direction, to which the blonde reacted the same as before. This time, however, he was a little less lucky, judging from the metallic clunk that sounded when his back came into contact with the solid steel of a shipment container.

"They call me the Exterminator," Vegeta spoke, his voice growing ever softer with each word that passed the man's lips. " I see who poses any kind of threat to my boss and our organization. If there is anyone that dares to cross our paths or make times hard for us, I'll be the one to take care of them." He continued to walk forward, until he was only a few inches removed from Shaggy.

"So tell me," he whispered so softly that Shaggy almost had to lean in to hear him properly. "Are you going to make things easy on me?" In a flash he pulled the revolver from his belt and cocked the hammer back. Before the other dealer could even react Vegeta had pressed the barrel to his Adam's apple. "Or do I have to exterminate you like the vermin that you are?"

Shaggy had gone so pale that even a carton of milk had more color to it. Big beads of sweat trickled down his face and his breathing was deep and irregular, ecstatic even. It was obvious that the feel of cold steel to his throat was enough to make the man want to wet himself.

"I-I-I'll make things easy on you," he stammered, his vocal cords nearly petrified in terror. "I swear!" he added quickly.

Vegeta smirked as he softly traced the skin of Shaggy's throat with the barrel of his revolver. He slowly circled it upwards until it was right under the man's chin. The assassin gave his magazine a spin and was overjoyed to hear the soft familiar click of a bullet positioning itself in front of the chamber. "So you can honestly swear that you're no snitch? You're not an informant, sent here to unmask me and bust me for the 'criminal scum' that I am?"

"I-I swear." Shaggy repeated his previous statement.

"Oh yeah?" Vegeta said, his black eyes so stone cold that it went through bone. "Then what is this?" His free hand grasped the man's collar forcefully and turned it over. The black-haired man couldn't help but smile when he saw the small black dot, as well as the tiny white wire that seemed to go nowhere. "You know what this means, don't you?"

Shaggy wanted to drop to his knees, but Vegeta kept him standing on his feet. The young man began to plead for his life. "Please! Don't kill me! I have a job, a baby on the way, a future! I can't die here, not like this!"

The assassin slid his finger around the trigger. "Maybe you should've thought about that before you decided to try and set me up."

A single click was all that it took to erase the man's existence. It was so easy that Vegeta considered swatting a fly to be more difficult. A loud bang sounded, followed by a white flash. Shaggy's skull blasted to pieces like a ripe tomato thrown to the floor, bits, blood and brains flying in every direction. Vegeta had to suppress a maniacal laugh as he felt sputters of amber liquid rain down on his face, He swiped some of it away with his thumb and studied the stuff, before licking it clean off and revelling in the strange yet deliciously salty taste.

Vegeta let go of Shaggy's collar and the lifeless body dropped to the docks, oozing blood and brains onto the wooden boards, only to trickle away in between the slits and into the salty sea water. The assassin eyed the corpse with nothing but disdain. He kicked it in the ribs to roll it over, so he could study the man's face. Or, well, what was left of it.

He was really a piss poor excuse for an informant. Gohan would be happy to hear that this little piece of shit had been taken care of, but first he had to dispose of the evidence. Firstly he snatched the microphone off of Shaggy's blood-soaked clothes, crushing it in between his fingers. He then dragged the nearly headless corpse away by the feet, taking it to the edge of the docks. After that all it took was another simple kick to the ribs to give him the seaman's grave he deserved.

* * *

_"Come on, Goten! I'm sure you can do better than that!" Gohan shouted as he slid back into a fighting stance. "We've been practicing this routine for two weeks now, get up!"_

_The seven-year-old groaned as he fought his way back to his feet. Minor cuts and bruises decorated his form and a small trickle of blood seeped down from the corner of his mouth. When the boy had found his footing, he smirked. Goten wiped away the sticky red liquid away with the back of his hands and proceeded by copying his brother's movements._

_His older brother returned the grin. "You ready?" he inquired. When he got a nod of confirmation, he drew his fingers back repeatedly, signaling for his younger sibling to lunge at him._

_That was enough to set the kid into motion. He ran at his teacher as fast as his short legs were able to carry him, showcasing an abnormally developed speed for someone his age. With the grace of a ballet dancer, he moved, kicking punching and swinging attacks with a fluidness that even the best of the best would envy. Too bad for him his brother was able to block every hit thrown at him._

_Goten was knocked back, but he was quick enough to crawl back to his feet. His smile widened as he shifted into a kata, body ready for combat._

_"I almost had you there, big brother," he laughed, his eyes sparkling in excitement._

_"Maybe," Gohan replied. The teen gestured for Goten to try again. "But that's still not close enough!"_

Goten sank back into the couch a little further as he eyed the images flashing across the old television set. A small smile had found its way to his lips; looking back to the good old days filled him with a sense of nostalgia. When he had found the box of old videos hidden in a corner of the attic he simply had to take them downstairs.

He could already grow a headache before he even tried to comprehend how the Gohan he saw on the TV screen was his own brother. The Gohan on the television couldn't be the same person that his father was so desperate to catch, it simply couldn't.

Whenever Goten tried to think of his sibling and what he was apparently up to his imagination left him with a big black void in his thoughts. If he had to believe Goku, Gohan was hiding somewhere from the police, selling drugs to the innocent people on the streets of South City. The teenager himself had been in the slums of his hometown and he had to say that things weren't exactly pretty over there. Seeing a coke junkie lying dead on the curb was like any other day to the people over there. That Gohan was the one supplying them with their daily fill was something that Goten almost refused to believe.

Because, how could he? The youngest Son was one-hundred percent certain that the somewhat goofy but kind-hearted young man on the screen was his big brother, the one he used to play with all day every day, the one that helped him become as skilled in martial arts as he was now. Come to think of it, there was just no way in hell that someone as nice and caring as Gohan used to be could be responsible for the biggest network of drug traffickers that the southern district had ever seen.

Goten's gaze locked on the screen again as he tossed the blanket he had used to keep his feet warm over his entire form. A quick glance out of the corner of his eyes revealed that he was alone in the room, causing him to grapple underneath the pillow that comforted his head.

After Gohan had fled the coop their mother had snapped to a degree, burning or throwing away everything related to her runaway son. The black-haired boy could all too fondly remember the evening he had sat in front of the fireplace and watched as the flames licked at the printed images of a smiling Gohan, the edges slowly curling up until nothing but memories and ashes remained of his goofy grin. When he was alone in his room that night, he had cried his eyes out.

There was one thing that Chi-Chi hadn't been able to get her clutches on, though. On his seventh birthday, Goten had gotten a small, fuzzy teddy bear from Gohan. He had treasured it as a child, taking it everywhere he went and getting upset if he forgot it. When the banshee inside of his mother was unleashed he had managed to hide it and keep it a secret ever since. On nights where he felt particularly lonely he would take it from its hiding place -under his mattress, behind a broken bed board- and stare into those beady black eyes for comfort. He'd usually fall asleep with the bear pressed against his chest.

He snuggled up into the couch and buried himself under the blanket more. He slowly felt his eyelids growing heavier as sleep took him over. Before the boy drifted off into dreamland, he wished that everything could just return back to normal. If he could wake up tomorrow and see Gohan smiling at him from the dinner table, he would be able to consider himself happy, but right now he had to try and keep his head up in a sea of idiots. As long as his father continued to chase after someone he couldn't catch, his life would never be something he could consider as normal. That, and his mother should learn to keep her mouth shut on occasion. A lash-out at his brother less might actually be able to bring a smile to his face more often.

The warm and comforting embrace of slumber finally overtook the teenager, soft snores barely audible over the sounds of the television.

_"You think I'll ever be as strong as you, Gohan?"_

_"Sure you will, squirt. Sure you will."_

* * *

Gohan smirked as he heard footsteps echoing down the long and stoney hallway that lead to their hideout. It was obvious that Vegeta had returned from their arranged meeting, and the drug runner couldn't be more excited to find out what had happened out there on South City's docks.

He himself had had an irking feeling that it had all been a setup. The bargain he had been offered seemed too good to be true, and for a minute it had gotten the best out of him. He had agreed to the deal before he had even contemplated the possibility of the exchange being one big hoax. Realising that it may not have been his smartest move, he had decided to send out Vegeta. If there was one man he could trust not to spill their secrets,, it was the black-haired assassin.

Onyx eyes stared at the doorframe in anticipation as the hollow sound of heels tapping on cold stone loudened with the second. Like he had done on previous occasions, Gohan found himself playing with the studded inlays of his overly fancy chair. Suddenly he found himself wondering why he had even bothered to buy the damn thing, but that was a concern for later.

Vegeta poked his head around the door, a huge smirk plastered onto his face. Gohan's gaze, as well as those of the other men present in the room, turned to him. Gohan cocked an eyebrow in curiosity.

"So, how did it go?" Mr. Moon inquired of his right-hand man. "Did you run into any trouble?"

"Trouble?" Vegeta replied, grinning as he walked into the room. He dropped the three suitcases he had taken back with him at his boss's feet. "Not really, unless you count the retard that tried to have me spill the beans on our little 'business endeavour'."

Gohan's gaze hardened and his fingers interlaced in front of his face, his brow furrowed in thought. So it had been a setup. The South City Police Department had been unsuccessful at finding him so far, but the fact that they had managed to arrange this made the biggest drug dealer of the Southern District feel just the slightest tinge of worry. He was certain that Vegeta had dealt with the predicament accordingly, but that still didn't put him at ease. The police were still aware of his existence, and they had been able to infiltrate his network and set up a meeting. Either one of his lower-class men had talked more than he should've, or the blue rats had experienced a streak of luck. No matter what the cause, it was still a good excuse to send Vegeta out to do some field work.

A loud laugh brought Moon back to reality. "What did you do to him?" Yamcha's voice rang off the walls.

"Yeah," Sharpener wanted to know too. "Did he piss himself before you ended him, or did he just cry like a little bitch?"

"Oh, it was no big deal," Vegeta said as he threw himself onto the couch and stared at the ceiling like he always did. "He was dead before his body hit the ground. I decided to go easy on him today. Made the cleaning up a whole lot easier as well. All it took was a bottle of water to get rid of the tomato juice I spilled."

Gohan nodded in approval. "And the body, what did you do with that?"

The scent in the room turned heavy and musky when he assassin lit up his favorite kind of cigarette. For a second the room was so silent that Gohan swore he could hear the rolling paper crackle as it burned away slowly. After Vegeta had filled the air with a blanket of poison mist he continued.

"Well, let's just say that the fishes may have made a new friend today," he chuckled deviously. Yamcha and Sharpener soon joined their voices in the laughter and even Moon couldn't help but smirk a little. Doing a job like this required a morbid sense of humor from time to time; it kept you from losing your sanity completely.

"So," Gohan said with a clap of his hands, grasping the attention of his business associates. "While I think we can all say this story has come to a happy ending so far, this new development does call for some action."

The collective nod of confirmation prompted him to keep talking.

"While the threat may have been handled for the time being, it still doesn't take away the fact that the police are hot on our heels," the young man reasoned. He swung a leg over an armrest and nonchalantly sank back into his chair. "The first thing I want us to do is to find out exactly how this could've happened. I trust the three of you enough to know that you didn't have a hand in this, but I'm not so certain about some of our other... friends. Vegeta?"

Said man turned his head and grunted in acknowledgement.

"I want you to go and do some fieldwork, see if you can find out who decided to relay info about us to our friends in blue. If we have a snitch in our organization, I want to see him dead and swimming with the fishes."

"Not needed," the assassin replied. Upon seeing his boss's quizzical look he elaborated. "The guy I iced was named Shaggy. He didn't exactly strike me as a cop. To be honest, the only reason I managed to see through him was because he was so nervous and on edge all the time. It was like that pitiful fool knew that I was gonna splatter his brains across the dock. Before I dumped his useless ass into the ocean I took the privilege of checking his pockets. I didn't find any badges, guns, or anything that your average blue rat would carry around. All that I found were two empty syringes and a small empty bag with some white powder still stuck to the inside."

Gohan giggled at hearing this. "So it seems that the SCPD has to resort to using junkies as their informants. How pathetic." A goofy grin crept over his features, one that he had taken from his father and had somewhat claimed as his own. "Still, I can't help but think that my father has had a hand in this; he is the police chief after all. Yamcha?"

The ex-baseball player looked up from his usual knife polishing. "Yeah?"

"I take it that you'll be visiting my maternal home again sometime soon?" Gohan queried "I want you to find out everything you can about this setup. Maybe they will try something again really soon and we might not be prepared for it."

Yamcha nodded in understanding.

"And one more thing," the man added. "I want you to keep an eye out for my little brother. From what you've been telling me, his home situation has been unstable lately, and I want to make certain that Goten is doing fine. If my dad decides to snap, so be it, but I will not have him harm my brother."

With that the business talk was over. Gohan reached into his pants pocket and took out his wallet. He undid the zipper for the change compartment, pulling out a small square photograph. Seeing it made him smile.

It was a photo of him and Goten, taken back in the days before everything went to hell. Goten was dangling from his shoulders and grinning wildly, while he himself was obviously doing his best to not tumble over. It was the only picture he had left of him and his sibling, and it was his most cherished possession.

From what Yamcha had told him his father wasn't the only person that had taken his absence the wrong way. Apparently his mother had snapped to the point of burning every memory of him and banning him out of sight and mind. The only times she did talk about him would be insults and accusations. Just the thought of it frustrated him more than anything; how was his little brother supposed to keep himself grounded with those two there to act as 'parents'?

All he could do now was hope that everything would turn out fine for Goten. It was too risky to visit the kid, as much as it may have pained the drug lord. There was nothing that he'd love to do more than seeing his little squirt again, but only time could tell if that would ever happen.

* * *

Goku tossed his SCPD jacket onto the coat rack before the door had gotten the time to close behind him. The thought of his own warm bed seemed more appealing than even going to heaven right now. As he slowly shuffled his way down the hall his mind began to mull over the day's occurrences.

To say that it had been stressful was an understatement, to say the least. Just around the midday hour had they decided to tell him about an arranged setup. He had been furious; of course he wanted to know everything regarding the Moon case. What only made matters worse was that the informant, a drug addict promised probation for his help, had been murdered and dumped into the ocean. Not even a single shred of useful information had come from it either.

The black-haired man walked into his living room and halted suddenly as he noticed the sleeping boy on the couch. Goku smiled at the serenity in the teenager's face. The way he laid there, curled up around his favorite teddy bear, was an image he hadn't seen for far too long now. For a moment he saw Goten as his little boy again, sweet as an angel. Not the grey mouse of a teenager he had become.

Goku tiptoed over to the sofa and pulled the covers over his son properly, from shoulders to toes. The teddy which Goten clutched to his chest for dear life hadn't gone unnoticed. The father had quickly discovered that he had hidden it under his mattress after his mother had gone berserk. Unlike any proper husband would've done to not evoke the rage of his wife he had decided to keep it a secret. The small bear was the only thing Goten had to remember his brother by, and that was something he couldn't just take away from him.

The cop sank through his knees and kissed his youngest son on his forehead, brushing a lock of black hair out of the teen's face. One glance was enough for the man to draw the comparison to his firstborn; Goten looked so much like Gohan that it was even a bit creepy.

Thinking of his runaway son still pained Goku's heart, even after his three years of absence. Contrary to what he let his wife believe he still loved Gohan dearly, so much that he would move the sun and the stars to get him home. His police work didn't have anything to do with justice or with moral fiber; it was a father's wish to be reunited with his child.

Why his eldest had decided to follow the path of a criminal was something that Goku would never be able to grasp entirely. He could still so fondly recall the days where Gohan had looked up to him, like he was a god in the young boy's eyes. He'd run around the house all day, wearing the dress up police uniform his parents had gotten him for Christmas. Nobody was safe from the vice grip of his plastic handcuffs and everyone was a crook. He'd almost shout from the rooftops how his daddy was the coolest ever and that he was going to be a police officer one day too.

But then things changed, radically. If there was one family member that Gohan held as dear as he did with his father, it was his uncle Raditz. Goku's brother had chosen a very different path of life than him, namely that of a radish farmer. The oldest Son boy had always loved coming to his uncle's gigantic farm and help out with the field work. At the end of the day he'd always come running up to Goku, covered in dirt from head to toe.

Then one day the police had suddenly driven up to the farm. There had been three cars, an arrestation van and even a canine squad, if the police chief remembered correctly. it turned out that they had been shadowing Raditz, believing that he was responsible for the disappearance of a farm boy he had hired to plow his lands. After a thorough search of the grounds they had found the poor kid's remains buried under the storage shed. Gohan had been present at the time, and had been forced to watch as his uncle was cuffed and forcefully shoved into the back of the arrestation van. From that day on he would never wear his costume again.

Goku sighed and rubbed his eyes. He couldn't exactly blame his son; there were times that even he felt embarrassed by the SCPD's lack of competence. It did pain him, however, that he had never taken the trouble to hide his resentment towards the police force. Whenever he noticed an opportunity to lash out at them he would. While he had never seemed to blame his father for anything he still gave a sour look every time Goku walked through the house in his uniform.

It wasn't until then that the black-haired man noticed the glow of the outdated television set. Whatever video or DVD Goten had been watching had ended already; the grey lines that flashed across the scene almost felt hypnotizing. Suddenly Goku realized that he was still crouched by the the sofa, prompting him to rise to his feet and walk over to the TV.

In the faint light of the flickering screen he spotted the black case on the dresser. Big fingers slightly trembled in inexplicable anxiety as they picked it up, turning it to the label on the side for charcoal eyes to read. The middle-aged cop immediately recognized his wife's curly, neat, feminine handwriting.

_Gohan and Goten training._

If he had been alone in the room he would've burst out into tears. His heart filled with sadness as he glanced over his shoulder and watched his little boy's stomach rise and fall slowly, no worries in his mind in the land of the dreamers. He had always been aware that Goten missed his brother, but the tape that he held in his grasp made it all the more clear to him. Goten practically craved having his sibling back in his life. Goku wondered if the tiny smile that curled his lips came from a happy dream, one in which he reunited with his wayward brother.

Goku grit his teeth and his grip around the videotape tightened. For most of his life his main objective had been keeping his family safe and happy. A warm smile greeting him after a long day of work would take away all his worries and brighten his mood instantly. But now that Gohan had fled the coop seeing a smirk on his youngest's features was a rarity. His wife had also shifted personalities drastically, and no one would protest if he said it was a change for the worse. All of this he blamed on himself.

For three years he had been chasing Gohan, or rather a misty figure that he couldn't seem to get into his clutches. No matter how much he tried and tried, there were simply no fruits of his labour to pluck. He had appointed himself as the person who would piece their family back together, yet he had failed again and again, much to his own dismay as well as Goten's.

Goku turned off the television and returned the tape back to where he had found it. Slowly, as to not wake his sleeping son, he shuffled across the living room to get to the hall. Before he made his way to his bedroom he shot the sleeping boy a final glance, promising himself that he would find Gohan no matter what.

"I'll bring him back, Goten, I swear," his whispers fell on deaf ears. "I know I've said that a lot in the past, but this time it's for real, I promise."

* * *

Gyu Mao heaved a deep sigh as he tossed his glasses onto the elmwood desk before him. His head felt heavy and his eyelids were beginning to grow heavy, causing him to lean his bearded chin onto an enormous hand.

The late hours at work were always so incredibly boring. As mayor of South City the man usually spent every minute after his lunch break battling his way through enormous stacks of paperwork that seemed to tower over his head. At least the first part of his day was somewhat exciting. He'd cut a ribbon here, shake some hands there and even have an occasional lunch with someone who thought too high and mighty of themselves, giving him yet another victim to silently ridicule.

Mao quickly peeked around the room from the corners of his eyes as if he were being spied on. Noticing the coast was clear the mayor pulled open a desk drawer and reached inside, grinning at the sound of tinkling glass.

Whiskey had always been the old man's favorite drink and whenever the day seemed like there was no end sight he'd screw upon a bottle and pour himself a double. Some might see it as irresponsible drinking, but he saw at as a way to alleviate stress.

Just as he was about to take the glass into his hands and perhaps stare out the window for a moment or two, the crackling sound of the intercom on his desk startled the life out of him. He put a hand to his chest and felt his heart pound erratically.

"Mr. Mayor, you have a visitor." he heard the familiar voice of his secretary Beatrice, a lovely old lady who'd spend her time needle pointing if the workload was lighter.

"Send him in." Mao told her as he hid his scotch glass quickly. About a minute later the door opened and a young man stepped into the mayor's office. With his unruly black hair he was quite the appearance, and the shy smile that graced his features added to his charisma. He leaned his weight from leg to leg as he balanced on the balls of his feet, almost as if he was nervous.

"Uhm, Mr, Mayor?" He even sounded shy. "I came here cause I have an important question to ask you."

"And what would that be, lad?" The politician asked.

A smirk appeared on the youngster's face. "Could I get a hug?" he queried, his voice suddenly laced with excitement and joy. "Grandpa?" He spread his arms wide, ready for an embrace that he seemed to be anticipating.

For a moment Mao was certain that he was losing his mind. Either the man in front of him had just called him grandpa, or he was in a desperate need of a hearing aid. It wasn't until then that he realized he wasn't seeing all too clearly. Quickly grabbing his glasses and putting them on, he was relieved to notice his vision enhancing.

Gohan was standing in the middle of his office.

Immediately the mayor's face lit up brightly as he stormed across the room to catch his grandson in a bear tight hug, the floor quaking with every step of his heavy posture. He heard Gohan wheeze slightly as he practically slammed all the air from the young man's lungs, but he didn't care; he hadn't seen one of his grandchildren for far too long.

After carefully putting the black-eyed man down he went to sit on the edge of his desk, after freeing his whiskey from it's prison. He took a gulp and savored the burning sensation in his throat. He raises his glass at Gohan, silently inquiring if he would like a drink as well. When his grandson shook his head, he spoke.

"So, Gohan," Mao began with a smile. "Exactly how long has it been?"

"Far too long, of course," Gohan laughed. He pulled out a chair from under the mayor's desk and sat down facing the backrest, leaning his elbows on top. "I think the last time I saw you was about a year and a half ago, when you helped me sign the papers to get my "coffee bar" up and running." He mimicked the quotation marks with his fingers, grinning.

"Yes, it truly has been that long," Mao said after downing another gulp. "I assume that business is faring well? No lumps and bumps in the road?"

"Oh, business is definitely thriving," Moon replied. His features suddenly turned serious. "But I do have a few lumps and bumps in the road, that's why I came here."

The mayor rolled his eyes with a sigh, but chuckled nonetheless. "Ah, grandchildren, they always come to you in desperate times of need. Whether it'd be money, new clothes," he began to snicker. "or help to keep out of troubles. Tell me, Gohan, what is it you need?"

Gohan exhaled deeply before speaking. "I kind of have an issue. This afternoon one of my men was arranged to meet with someone who would be able to deliver us our biggest shipment so far."

Mao listened observantly as his grandson began to elaborate on the situation.

"It turned out that whoever this person was, he certainly didn't have any narcotics to sell. Well, maybe the two syringes in his pocket, but that's not the issue. The guy was nothing but a junkie, sent by the cops with a wire attached under his collar. Vegeta managed to take care of the problem accordingly, luckily enough, but that still doesn't change the fact that the police are slowly picking up on our trail again."

Mao nodded slowly. "I see. And where do I come into play in this story?"

Gohan's eyebrows sank just a tad when he looked up at his grandpa. "I assume that you know who is responsible for the case regarding me and my organization?" He asked, already knowing the answer.

Once again, the old man gave a slow nod. "Of course I do," he replied. "How could I not know that my daughter's husband is leading the investigation to find my wayward grandson? What kind of a grandpa would I be if I didn't?" He laughed, sending the young man a wink on the last sentence.

"Okay, good," Gohan said as he shifted around in his somewhat uncomfortable seat. "Now here is my question. I assume that as mayor you have quite a bit of influence which you could put to the good. I was hoping that you would be able to pull some strings here and there, and, you know..."

"Just spill the beans, boy," Mao chuckled, already knowing where this conversation was headed.

"I was hoping that you could try and get my dad pulled off the South City Police Force."

The old man bellowed in laughter. He emptied the remainder of his whiskey in one big gulp and shoved the glass aside.

"You realize what you are asking of me, right?" Mao said, cocking an eyebrow in feigned curiosity. "Because the way I see it is this: My drug dealer, or drug lord, if you will, of a grandson is standing here in my office. He only has but one request, and that is for me to make certain that his father, a police officer, gets fired from his job and thus is unable to carry out his services to the public and make certain that every criminal gets his proper taste of justice. And all of this so the one who would be viewed as the criminal in the story can continue with his shifty trades. Am I getting a bit close here?"

Gohan didn't even flinch as he replied. "Yeah, basically."

Once again Mao roared in amusement. "See, and this is why I always favored you, kid," he said as he took his weight off the desk and stood upright. "Not one to beat around the bush, I like that."

"So?" Moon asked. "Can I take that as a yes?"

"You should be glad that I never took a liking to that father of yours anyway." Mao bellowed in glee, petting his enormous belly. "Of course I'll help you, anything for my grandchildren."

Gohan smiled at the reply. "Okay, thanks gramps, that's amazing! But I also have one final favor to ask of you."

"And that being?"

"From what I've been hearing the at home situation at Mom and Dad's has been deteriorating as of late. Although I couldn't give two shits about what happens to my Dad, I was hoping that you could still keep an eye out. Goten has to live with those two every single day and I'm afraid that something might happen. If you could just intervene, should there be any signs of the situation worsening, that would be the greatest gift you could give me."

"Fine," Mao said, wrapping a gigantic arm around his grandson's shoulder. "Like I said, anything for my grandchildren."

Gohan grinned. "Thanks, gramps! Now, how about that drink you offered me? It's been way too long since we've had a decent conversation."


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4.

Goten lightly spread his nostrils and let the aromas of the lush green forest around him intoxicate him with its scent. The smell of nature soothed him and brought a smile to his features. The mating call of a bird whose name he couldn't place chirped through the trees, almost as if it was the background music for a breathtaking scenario.

And a beautiful sight it was, all those thick, sturdy, seemingly indestructible stems, standing tall and mighty with their wooden brethren, like soldiers with moss for boots. The teenager took a step and felt himself beaming with joy as he heard the crumpling and snapping noises of dead leaves and broken twigs under the soles of his shoes. It felt good to be back.

"Ah, isn't it simply breathtaking?" Goten looked over his shoulder and noticed his lilac-haired best friend stepping beside him. "I just don't get why we had to get up so early, and on a Saturday at that." Trunks yawned loudly, stretching his arms above his head.

"Because," Goten chuckled. "If we had gone out at midday like you suggested, we'd be boiling out of our clothes right now. And if you thought I was going to be the one to mop up little puddles of Trunks, you're mistaken."

The black-eyed boy slung the backpack he had brought with over his shoulder more properly, before stalking off into the maze of trees, the Briefs kid trying to keep up with still tired legs.

As the two teens moved through a sea of green the son of Goku couldn't help but feel a sense of nostalgia. It brought him back to the days where he and Trunks were only half their present age, and how they would play in the forests right outside South City for days on end. Very few people ever ventured there, as they preferred the life in the suburbs, or the concrete forest as Goten liked to call it, over the unspoiled nature only a twenty-minute drive away. Why anyone would dislike a serene atmosphere like this eluded the teen.

Minutes past as the two friends continued their walk over shaggy trails and grassy fields. After about half an hour, the younger one of the duo inhaled sharply. Without warning Trunks he dashed forward, to which the purple-headed boy raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"Goten, what's the matter?" he shouted at the running kid. When Goten didn't reply, he sighed in semi-annoyance, displeased that he had to physically strain himself and jog after his friend.

The other one of the duo could barely contain his excitement when he hit the brakes right in front of a tree that seemed to endlessly shoot out into the air, shielding the blue skies from sight with its wildly overgrown canopy.

"Heh," Trunks puffed as he finally caught up, placing a hand on the other's shoulder for support. "I was already wondering what got your panties in a twist like that," he breathed heavily. "Now could you please tell me what's so life changingly special about this tree?"

Goten elbowed his friend in the ribs to silence him and was met with a pained groan. He smirked and turned back to the wooden giant, his hands reaching out with slightly quivering fingers. His eyes sparkled in glee.

"It's still here," he whispered as his fingertips grazed the bark. "The marks we left seven years ago, they are still here."

Trunks cocked an eyebrow in curiosity and looked around the Son boy. "Well I'll be damned," he said as he crossed his arms, smirking. "You're right."

The two teenagers were staring at a big cross that had been carved into the side of the tree, the blue color it had been painted in eroded and an dulled down. It was one of the marks they had left as young children to keep track of how far they had gone into the forest. Not that it had proven to be a successful idea; Goten and Trunks had always been so hyper and short of attention span that they had practically forgotten about the cross before they even left it there.

"That must mean we're getting closer!" Goten had to force himself not to yell as the seven-year-old inside of him rose to the surface for the first time in forever. He was nearly bouncing and urging for his comrade to get a move on. "Come on, Trunks, we're almost there, hurry!"

Said boy smacked himself in the face when he wasn't given time to reply. Goten just shot off in between the trees again, leaving him standing there and cursing the idea of exercise more than ever before.

"Goten, wait up already!"

Another half an hour passed without any special happenings. The two boys found more of their markings scattered throughout the forest as they pressed on, obviously in search of something. When they reached a less overgrown part of the woods, the Son kid finally spotted it in the distance.

"There it is!" his voice went shrill with excitement momentarily, earning a chuckle out of his best friend. Once again Goten ran off to halt in front of a tree, but this time it wasn't a painted cross that held his attention. In between the leaves of the trees, two deep charcoal eyes spotted a wooden structure that seemed like it had been abandoned for at least a few years.

"See, I knew it would still be there!" Goten beamed happily as Trunks reached him. "Up there, it's our old treehouse!"

The purple-haired boy tossed his own backpack to the dirt below, and sighed as he dropped himself down too. A quick reach into his pocket rewarded him with a small packet and a lighter. He sparked the cigarette swiftly and inhaled, slumping back a little against the stem of the old oak they had built their treehouse in.

"You go ahead. I'll be right up," he sighed, clouding the atmosphere with a hue of tobacco smoke. "You completely exhausted me with all of that running and jumping of yours, and I need to catch my breath first."

Goten nodded and turned to the tree, smiling as he noticed how the branches that grew out in every possible direction to form a perfect ladder to climb up the length of the giant. He braced himself on an offshoot just above his hands and pulled his weight up with ease. Moving his way to the top of the tree proved itself to be quite easy.

In no time the black-eyed kid found himself staring at the crooked, old, front door of the small wooden cabin. He smirked when he noticed the scribblings all over it, from "Goten rules!" to "No girls allowed!", with a backward 'a' of course. When he moved forward and heard the door hinges creak as he swung the slightly rotten piece of wood aside.

Goten held his breath as he stepped into the treehouse. He had to hunch over in order to stand, but the rest of the room was fairly spacey. Being inside here brought back so many memories, and just for a moment he was a seven-year-old again, excited out of his mind that he, Gohan and Trunks had built this awesome place.

The teenager sat himself down with his legs crossed, determined to examine the treehouse more. For the first time since he had entered he dared to breathe, only to inhale the strangely musky scent of years-old wood. If he listened closely he could hear the forest creatures mingle and the tree branches dance in the wind.

The room itself was empty, of course. He and Trunks had always used it to sneak around and do things their parents wouldn't allow. He chuckled at the memory of hiding here and thoroughly inspecting a magazine that the blue-eyed kid had stolen from under his father's bed. When Bulma had found out about that one, she had blown a fuse.

When Goten shifted around in the treehouse he heard the boards underneath him creak and groan, making him grin. The place had been so sturdy when Gohan had helped them build it, but it had deteriorated. He fondly remembered the exact day too. It had been halfway through August and the sun had burned so brightly that he could've sworn that he was going to liquify. But his big brother had kept the spirits up, and at the end of the day they all cooled down with a can of icy cold soda, inside their newly built treehouse.

When the son of Goku glimpsed the wall to his left he gasped loudly. There, on the wall, was a photo of him and Gohan. Years of neglect had left it in bad state, but Goten was still able to make out his older brother, possibly at the age of sixteen, smiling happily at however was standing behind the camera. He himself was in the picture too, his arms draped around Gohan's neck, hanging on to the teenager's back while laughing excitedly.

"What's up?" Trunks's voice seemed to appear out of nothing, startling the life out of the other boy. His friend laughed as he entered the treehouse, joining Goten in staring at the photo. The boy with blue eyes looked at the other teen warily, not knowing how he would respond to this. Of course he knew that the kid's mother had gone ape, burning all of his big brother's photos and personal items. Seeing an actual photo of them together must be the surprise of a lifetime.

Goten wasn't all too sure how to react. Should he be excited, or was it safer to just burn the damn thing and forget? A part of him was happier than he had been in the past three years, having finally found something of his brother that he could claim as his own. He could fold it up and hide it in his wallet, so he could look at it whenever he felt the need to get sentimental. But should his mother find out...

Shaking the bad thoughts away, Goten took the photo from the wall. The duct tape that had been used to keep it in place pretty much peeled off on it's own already. He folded it up as neatly as he possibly could, tucking it away behind a zipper in his wallet.

"Goten, are you alright?" Trunks asked hesitantly. His friend slowly nodded, a smile curling his lips. The Brief's kid sighed in relief. "Hey, I've meaning to ask you something."

Goten cocked an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

"How the hell do you manage to keep a clear head, living with your parents?" he queried. "I mean, I know my old folks can be crazy sometimes but, no offense, you're mother is just completely loony. Add your father never being home into the mix and you get a nice big crazy shake."

Goten shrugged his shoulders and hung his head, his onyx eyes covered by equally dark strands. "In all honesty," he said, almost as if it were a question. "I don't know, really. I barely listen to my mother's crap anymore. The good thing about my dad never being around the house must be that I have a lot less crap to deal with, I suppose. But there are still times where I would just love run away and leave it all behind me."

"I see," Trunks replied, slowly. "You know, there are certain ways to... alleviate the stress, so to say."

Goten's brow furrowed as he raised his head. "What are you implying?"

Trunks warily glanced over his shoulder, as if there were anyone that could catch them doing something they weren't supposed to. He then reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a small ziplock bag. Its content was green and lumpy, with a strange brownish texture.

Goten gasped wildly. Of course the boy was aware of what Trunks had decided to take along; the drug prevention classes that both school and his father had forced him to sit through had taught him all that he needed to know. Narcotics were bad, that was the lesson that had been hammered into him for years now, and now his best friend had just pulled out a small bag of marijuana.

"Are you fucking stupid?" he hissed without even thinking. "You know that stuff is illegal! You could be getting us into serious trouble!"

"Oh, hush hush, Princess," Trunks teased with a smirk. "We are out here in the middle of nowhere, who is gonna catch us doing anything?"

That somewhat put a dent in the Son kid's reasoning, but he wasn't going to give up so easily.

"But Trunks, did you forget that my dad is a cop?" Goten inquired. "He could literally sniff me out and get me into trouble. He knows the signs of this stuff and he would certainly see it if he looked me in my eyes."

His best friend scoffed and tossed the small bag in his direction. Goten almost fumbled it, but managed to catch it with one hand nonetheless.

"Have a whiff of that," the blue-eyed boy almost ordered, "and tell me that all the plowing through the woods we've done won't cover up the smell. Plus, if you think that all those 'drugs are bad' lectures have made you the expert, you should know that weed wears off after an hour or two, three at the most."

Goten was silent as he opened the small bag with trembling fingers. While his sense of reasonable thinking still told him that this was a bad idea, he couldn't help but wonder what Trunks meant by 'alleviating stress'. That marijuana was mostly used to mellow out was common knowledge, but no one would ever be able to describe the exact feeling that came along with it. If he should believe the stories, the weird bits of plant confined within the plastic were able to help him 'forget', even if it was just for a little while.

By now he had been able to pry the bag open, slowly lifting it to his nose and inhaling deeply. The aroma that reached his nostrils was incredibly strong and musky to a degree, but he also noted a hint of sweetness. He had to admit that it smelled good.

"You know what?" Goten said as he handed the marijuana back to Trunks. "Why not, what have we got to lose?"

Trunks smirked. "I knew you'd turn around. You have no idea how hard it was to snatch this from my dad's stash drawer, though, I felt like a ninja having to sneak around like that."

"Whaddaya think that small moon on the bag is supposed to be?" Goten thought out loud, suddenly noticing the small bright circle printed onto the plastic. Apparently the Briefs kid had the same idea.

"I dunno," Trunks's brow furrowed in thought for a moment before drawing a conclusion. "Maybe it's supposed to be a trademark or something. You know, like an emblem. Perhaps it belongs to the guy my dad goes to to buy this stuff."

Trunks then pulled out his packet of cigarettes. For a moment Goten was confused as he pulled out of the cancerous sticks, but when he pried free a long, white rolling paper and a piece of what he could only reason to be an unrolled filter, he understood.

"So basically all we have to do is make sure we get these," Trunks explained, pointing at the cigarette, filter, and the small ziplock bag. "...into this," he added, waving the rolling paper back and forth. The paper was very thin and nearly transparent. The Briefs boy placed it in a fold in his jeans, so he would be able to divide the contents along the length.

"I suppose I can try and do it the way my father does it," the purple-headed teen said, "but we don't have a grinder to crumble up the weed, so I need you to do that while I prepare the rest."

Goten snatched the weed from Trunks and emptied it into his hand. He had once been told that the clumpy piece of green was called a 'bud', if he recalled correctly. When he took the thing between his fingers he immediately noticed that it was incredibly dry, and even the slightest amount of friction was able to crumble it to near dust. When he checked his fingertips they felt strangely sticky, and a powdery yellowish substance clung to them.

A glance to his side revealed Trunks, peeling a cigarette apart and dumping the contents into the rolling paper. The teenager brushed the brown, dried and cut leaves apart until there was about twice as much of it at the front in comparison with the back. The filter was rolled into shape quick enough, and found its way to the back of the soon to be joint.

"Okay, now give me the stuff," the older one of the duo said, holding his hand out. Goten dumped the weed into his friend's open palm, who was quick with spreading it over the tobacco in equal amounts. "Now all I have to do is roll it."

And that proved itself to be the hardest part of the task by far. Trunks spent several minutes on rolling the two substances into the desired cone shape, and more than enough time had passed when the paper finally gave in and rolled closed. Luckily for the lilac-haired boy, all that it took to finish the job then was a quick lick across the sticky side.

"There, that should do the trick," he said as he rummaged through the pocket of his jeans. A soft jingle sounded when he found his keys, which he used to poke around into the joint.

"Why are you doing that anyway?' Goten asked as he arched a brow.

"I dunno, my dad always does this," Trunks responded, putting his keys away. "Maybe it's to make sure it burns away properly, ya know, equally."

The two friends sat in silence for a while, both of them staring at the joint in the older one's open palm. To say that it was a beauty would be a lie, but it was a job well done nonetheless. Trunks probably wouldn't have gone so far as priding himself for his achievement, but it still brought a smirk to his face.

With a certain degree of nonchalance, Trunks took his lighter out. Goten felt his nerves creeping up on him, but remained silent as he watched a little flame erupt, which his friend used to light the joint. As he inhaled deeply, the tip began to glow red. A brief silence followed before the purple-haired teen exhaled, sighing in pleasure as he filled the air around them with a sweet-smelling poison mist. His younger friend sat in certain anticipation, awaiting a response.

Trunks coughed lightly, before passing the small, white stick over to Goten. Said boy sighed deeply as he studied the thing. Whenever someone had discussed this thing called a joint, they had always stipulated just how bad these things were, and how he should stay away from them. But now that he was about to take his first lung full, he couldn't help but think that everyone had just been exaggerating.

"Be careful, man," the Briefs kid warned him. "it kinda tickles the airways."

Albeit hesitantly, Goten put the joint between his lips and inhaled carefully. Immediately he could feel the thick, acrid smoke prickle in his lungs, and a vaguely sweet, strange taste filled his mouth. When he felt like he couldn't take it anymore, he stopped.

As he spewed out the smoke into the atmosphere, he could swear he didn't feel any different. It only seemed logical to him that he would have to use more of the stuff to get an effect, but for the time being he considered it best to let his lungs get used to the penetrating feeling first. As he passed the reefer back to his best friend, he didn't fail to notice the soft tickle that began to build up in his throat, but it was brushed off easily enough with a small cough.

"...And?" Trunks queried before taking another hit himself.

"It tastes kind of... funky," the Son boy replied after the curtain of white plumes had subsided. There wasn't really another way he could describe it.

Trunks snickered in amusement. "Yeah, it does," he said, once again inhaling. "But it's not that bad, it's actually kind of sweet."

Goten nodded, taking the joint from in between the other's fingers. He took a deeper drag this time, yet it didn't burn his airways as much as it had done previously. When he let the smoke deplete from his lungs, a strange heaviness began to envelop his mind. It was as if time was beginning to slow down gradually, and another toke from the spliff strengthened this effect.

When the whole thing was gone, the duo sat in silence for a few minutes. Goten did his best to analyze his new state of mind, which proved itself to be harder than expected. For some reason he wasn't able to keep his thoughts aligned long enough to draw conclusions, finding himself on an entirely new trail of brain sprouts before he was able to finish the other. He sank back a little, and the relaxation that had taken over his being washed over him in waves. His eyelids felt heavier and his breathing was deeper, but he couldn't have felt better at that moment. He was pure Zen, calmness, relaxed.

A glance to his side revealed Trunks, slumped back with his fingers interlaced behind his head. His blue eyes were slightly bloodshot and a tiny smile curled his lips. If he was feeling the same way Goten did, it could only be a positive thing. Just like the younger kid he must've noticed how everything he saw looked just a little bit more sharper and defined, and how the sounds around them seemed to exist out of the voices of a million different animals, not the weird blur of chirping and screeching that it used to be.

This stuff... it was just great.

"Hey Goten," Trunks eventually spoke, breaking the silence in the treehouse. "I was just thinking of a news item I saw on TV yesterday, and.." the boy was cut short by a wave of giggles. "...and I think I can pee my pants laughing when I think of it again."

He was speaking slower than usual, Goten noticed. "What was it about?" he replied, his curiosity now awakened.

Trunks shifted his weight around until he sat up straight, seemingly ready to tell a tale of epic proportions.

"So they showed the cameraman holding a bouquet of flowers as he rings on a doorbell. One of these nurse-like ladies lets him in and he walks into the living room. There is this enormously fat dude sitting in his armchair, just sobbing like a little baby. And with fat, I mean humungous, like, all-the-jelly rolls-curling-over-the-armrests-fat."

Normally Goten would've scrunched his nose at his friend's graphic description, but right now all he could do was chuckle. Why he thought of it as funny, he didn't know, but the fact remained that he could feel a wave of laughter coming up if Trunks didn't shut up anytime soon.

"So this guy, Yajirobe, or whatever his name was, gets totally emotional the second he gets into the view of the camera, his third chin jiggling up and down as he cries like a little baby, telling how 'he still couldn't comprehend it'. Well, it turned out that the day before he sank through the tiles in the backyard and got his fat ass stuck!"

If Goten had been drinking something, it would've covered the wooden walls of the treehouse now. He began to roar in laughter, unable to stop. His friend joined him, but was still able to form the words to make matter worse.

"But the best part was when they showed photos of how a rescuing team tried to lift him from the hole he had created. It looked like they were trying to drag a dead whale ashore."

Before he knew it, Goten was laughing so hard that he wasn't even producing sounds anymore. He clutched his aching ribs and tried to regulate his breathing, but it was to no avail.

From that point on, time flew. The two best friends sat in the treehouse for the rest of the day, trading stories and laughing over other people's misfortune. The two bags of potato chips they had brought with only had about five minutes to live, as their tastebuds went insane with the flavor, causing them to devour it all like hungry wolves.

This stuff... it was just great.

* * *

While the slums of South City were always active with the sounds of gangs on every street corner, the centre of the giant concrete jungle was something entirely different. During peak hours the sounds of cars stuck in traffic and the annoyed grumbles of pedestrians on the sidewalk were inevitable, not to mention the thick layer of smog that assaulted the lungs of all the inhabitants.

As Yamcha strolled through the streets casually, the retired baseball player couldn't help but wonder what his life would be like if he had chosen to buy a nice, spacy house somewhere out in the middle of nowhere. It definitely would be nice to get round to some peace and quiet for a change. Then again, he couldn't simply leave everything behind just so he could catch some rest. He had enough to concern himself with as it was; leaving head over heels would only add to that.

A woman the size of a small van bumped into the man as he continued his walk towards his destination. She yelled an insult in his direction, but Yamcha barely paid any mind. He turned a corner and was relieved to see the ocean of people thinning down a bit. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he put an extra zip in his step.

Gohan had been very clear about tonight's objective. Yamcha was to go over to Moon's maternal home and try and find out as much as he could regarding the case of the drug runner. For as far as Goku and Chi-Chi would be concerned, he was only over for a cup of coffee and some time to catch up with an old friend. If the police officer only knew just what Yamcha's true purpose was...

He blew a stray hair from his face with a puff of breath, sighing happily when he spied the Son residence at the end of the street. He wasn't exactly looking forward to this little get-together, truth to be told. While Yamcha had seriously come to love his position in South City's criminal underbelly, and though he had slowly but surely lost all of his respect for the SCPD and al for their affiliates, he still felt uneasy every time he went over to his childhood friend. To the scarred man it was obvious that the contact between the two had watered down over the years, with Goku being so obsessed over his work, yet he still viewed what he was about to do as some form of betrayal. Goku had been one of the people to help him out of the criminal world many, many years ago; now he was using him to secure his place even more. Maybe he could somewhat return the favor and help progress the eventual reunion of father and child, should the situation allow it,

Before he banged on the front door, Yamcha tried to adjust his necktie a bit and keep it from suffocating him. He had gone through the trouble of dressing up, even if it was just to keep Ch-Chi from judgmentally tutting her lips the way she always did when she thought no one would be able to hear. The man fidgeted around a bit in anxiety, until the door opened with a small creak and a pair of onyx stared at him intently from in between the open space.

A smile formed on Yamcha's face. "Heya, Goten!" he greeted enthusiastically. The teen in question returned the grin and opened the door further, allowing him to step inside.

"Hello Yamcha," the youngest Son boy retorted. "Mom told me to open up and ask you if I could take your coat."

The retired baseball chuckled as he let his jacket slide from his shoulders. "Ah, she hasn't changed a bit, hasn't she?" He handed the thing to Goten, who was quick enough to put it away. He watched as the teenager then quickly sped off to the living room, probably to lounge on the couch the way he usually did whenever Yamcha was over. Just for a minute, he allowed himself to wonder how it could be that this was Gohan's little brother; he was so incredibly well-mannered and kind-hearted. Not that this wasn't the case for his elder sibling, but the fact that one was a highschool student and the other was a big time drug lord had to count for something.

And indeed, when Yamcha stepped into the living room the kid was lying on the sofa with his feet kicked up, fatigue clear in his eyes. The man couldn't blame him though; having to live with Goku and Chi-Chi as your parents was likely to suck the life out of you. Remembering his promise to Moon, he kept an eye on Goten as he entered the kitchen.

The soft, cheerful humming coming from Son Chi-Chi reached his ears, and the minute he turned the corner he saw the middle-aged woman running amuck in what was probably her favorite room in the entire house. The mother of two was busy pouring coffee into porcelain and slightly tacky cups, cookies included, of course. He scraped his throat, effectively grasping her attention.

"Oh hello, Yamcha, I hadn't seen you there," she chimed in a sugar sweet voice, so overly acted that it made Moon's doorman want to gag. "Goku is in the dining room, sweetheart, why don't you go over there already, I'll be out in a minute to bring you men some coffee."

"Okay," Yamcha nodded politely before walking over to the door that separated kitchen from diner. "And hello to you too, Chi-Chi." he said, before passing through. That Goku's wife only acted this nice to him because of her husband was as clear as the light of day. After the whole incident three years ago, the woman had practically shunned every form of contact with people not directly related to her, and to those she did talk to on occasion she would act cold and distant, should Goku not be present at the time

Said man was bent over a stack of papers, scattered all across the long dining table. His face expressed concentration, as if there was some small detail that he had missed, hidden in the fine printing. When he sighed and looked up from his paperwork, his face almost lit up.

"Yamcha!" he said, enthusiasm suddenly in his voice. "It's great to see you!" He shot up from his chair, all the files suddenly forgotten. After catching his old friend in a quick embrace, Goku gestured for him to sit. As Yamcha did so, the police officer quickly cleaned up the mess he had made before joining the other man.

"So..." Goku spoke, as soon as the duo had properly taken place by the dinner table. "How have you been?"

"I'm doing fine," his friend replied. "but it's mostly the same old, same old, you know. Ever since I've retired, life seems to be going in circles."

"I get what you mean," the cop agreed. Both members of the duo looked up when Chi-Chi walked into the kitchen, carrying a platter with two cups of coffee and a plate of cookies. As his wife put the hot beverages down, the man continued. "We've been hitting dead ends still. We still have a few options left regarding where we can find _him_, but with every step we take he seems to outrun us more."

Yamcha eyed Goku's wife intently, not surprised to find her unresponsive at the mention of _him_. The police officer never dropped the name of his eldest son whenever Chi-Chi was in the room, since she had forbidden for it to be spoken. Breaking this rule would result in a proper tongue lashing and angry glares that could make even the most intimidating of men cower.

He thanked the black-haired woman politely as she served him his drink. Silence prevailed for a bit as he stirred his coffee, the only sound audible being the tingling noise of a steel spoon against a porcelain cup. Chi-Chi lingered in the room for a moment, inspecting a rather offensive spot of dirt on her prized silver platter. She then walked off after lightly kissing her husband's cheek.

As soon as Chi-Chi had left the room, Goku leaned over on his elbows. "Just between you and me, that woman will one day be the death of me."

Yamcha chuckled loudly at hearing that. "Why so? I mean, I always get the idea that she has an extra firm grip on the handle of her frying pan wherever she goes, but is she really that much of a pain?"

The father of two lifted his cup to his lips and drank a good gulp. He looked at Moon's doorman from over the porcelain rim. "No, it's not that," his dark eyes stood sullen. "but whenever I come home without any news or progress, you know, regarding the whole Gohan case, she gets upset with me."

The retired sportsman gave a quizzical look. "I thought she didn't want to have anything to do with Gohan anymore."

"She says she doesn't," Goku said, reaching for a cookie. "She claims that she'll drag him to jail herself if she ever sees him again, but I'm sure she just misses him dearly, perhaps even more than I do." He stared into the black pool of coffee swimming in his cup, his mind obviously mulling over something.

"You'll bring him back home, Goku," Yamcha reassured his old friend. While he was working for the very same man that the police officer across from him was trying to hunt down, he was certain that the pieces that were the members of the Son family would one day come together and fix up all the damage that had been done. The scarred man may have been a subordinate to Moon, but he was determined to help towards the reunion of father and son. He wouldn't be able to suddenly join Goku's side, mainly because Vegeta would have his hide if he did so, but he could always give a small push in the right direction.

"I know," Goku agreed, a small smile curling his lips. "I know that one day I'll be able to make my wife smile again, and Goten too. He misses his big brother so much that I'm afraid it's going to influence him for the worst. I need to get Gohan home, so everybody can be happy again." The sadness that could be read in the man's eyes was undeniable.

"But how do you plan to do that?" Yamcha was hesitant to ask the question, seeing how it was never too much of a smart thing to ask a cop about the case he was working on. "I mean, if you are running on dead ends, how can you be so certain that everything will work your way?"

Suddenly all doubt left Goku's voice. "Because," he reasoned, sipping at his coffee. "Me and Krillin have been planning a raid over the past few weeks. I know that we haven't had any the success in the past, but this one seems to be the most solid opportunity we've had so far."

Yamcha listened closely as the police officer began to state a few loose facts. While the confidentiality that came along with being part of the SCPD would prevent him from knowing every little detail, he would be happy enough to take just anything back to his boss.

"There's this very sketchy coffee house in the slums of the city. Aside from the bar and a few abandoned tables and chairs, the entire place seems to be deserted. However, residents have noted how every once in awhile people bang on the front door, and a man with black hair opens up for them."

The retired baseball player had to do everything in his power to not gulp in anxiety. It was more than obvious who this 'man with black hair' was, and he felt like praising the gods above for not revealing his identity to his old friend yet.

"When these people eventually leave, they all seem to be in a sedated state of mind. We have reason to believe that a prostitute that we arrested a few days back went here in order to get her fill. Several people have reported her going in and out of the building."

To Yamcha, it was unmistakable. Erasa, the prostitute Goku had been referring too, had been picked up by Goku and Krillin, and she had been questioned on Gohan's whereabouts. And whether she had blabbed or not, the duo of cops had suddenly found Moon's actual hideout location. It seemed that after three years of drawing the short straw, luck was finally on their side for once.

But not if it was up to Yamcha. Sure, he wanted to help an old friend reunite with his long lost son, but if he didn't alarm Gohan now, not only the eldest Son brother, but the entire organization behind his back would be in serious trouble. An organization that he himself belonged to, and thus one he had to protect in dire times.

"If it had been up to me, we would kick the door to that coffee house in tonight already," Goku said as he chewed a cookie down. "But enough about me. What have you been up to lately?"

* * *

"Oi, Mr. Hacksaw," Gohan watched lazily as Sharpener threw a rolled up paper ball at the sleeping form of Vegeta, who snoring as loudly as his airways would let him. "Hey, you pig, quit snoring! If you keep at it like this the cops won't even need to wire the place if they want to eavesdrop on us."

Moon chuckled lightly at the remark. Once Vegeta's body would succumb to the numbing powers of the THC in his veins, there was no waking him up for the coming eight hours. The blonde boxer would generally complain about the excessive noise, and Gohan had to admit that his insults were improving with the days.

His bored onyx eyes gazed across his hideout. The grey, stone walls would make the average person somber, yet he had always found them to be somewhat comforting. Maybe it was because it exuded no atmosphere at all. He had also made certain that the furniture in the room didn't make up too much of a living room feel, opting to have mismatched chairs and couches scattered throughout.

The drug runner's heart skipped a beat when a door behind his back opened, something that shouldn't happen, seeing how the main entrance to the room was located to the left wall. This could only mean that someone was entering the hideout through the secret passageway that led to the emergency exit, which was located right underneath the store behind the coffee house they used for a cover.

Gohan wiggled himself out of his luxury armchair and turned to the heavy door at the end of the room. It opened slowly, and the son of Goku held up his hands in a defensive position, ready to take on any unwanted visitors that might enter. When the face of a middle-aged man with a scar across his eye and cheek appeared, he sighed a little in relief.

"Yamcha, you almost scared me there," Gohan said as his subordinate closed the door behind him. Then suddenly a question arose. "Why are you using the secret passageway? Was somebody shadowing you?"

"That's what I came here to talk about," Moon didn't like the serious look in Yamcha's eyes one bit. "Maybe you should check out the security cams first, I'll explain the situation while you look."

Gohan didn't waste any time in retrieving the laptop that had been linked to every single camera that was installed around the premises. It was simple, maybe a little too much even, but it would save him a truckload of time, should he ever have to abandon his hideout suddenly. There wouldn't be a small warehouse worth of tech equipment to drag along.

"So what's the issue here?" he queried as he turned to his doorman.

"Well, I went to your dad's house today, to have coffee and catch up, like panned," Yamcha explained as he ran a hand through his hair. "I didn't expect to get to know much, but it turns out that he's a lot more on our heels than he even realizes."

Gohan's brow furrowed at that. "What do you mean? Did someone talk too much? Do they know names of the people in this room?"

"I fear that it's worse than that..." Yamcha moved for the laptop and in a few simple movements of his index finger a screen had been opened, showing every single foot around and in their secret hiding place. the ex-sportsman pointed at one frame in particular. It showed the main entrance of the coffee house, as well as the road that ran in front of it and the few solitary cars that stood parked along the curb. One in particular, a big white van with the logo of a laundromat that Gohan had never heard of before, stood sentry in front of the coffee house, the headlines burning brightly and small plumes of smoke trailing out of the exhaust pipe.

"Goku told me that he and Krillin have been planning a raid," Yamcha explained as both men watched the van, simply devoid of all life, yet running all the same. "He was certain that it was their most solid one yet, seeing how all the evidence for it seemed to work their way."

Moon arched a brow. "Evidence?"

"Yes," Yamcha gulped a bit and hung his head in shame. "Your dad arrested Erasa several days ago. Apparently people had reported her going in here, and a certain black-haired man had opened the door for her."

Gohan was silent. He had no idea whether he should be mad at his underling for being spotted, or if he should be compassionate; there wasn't a lot that could've been done to prevent it anyway. Instead of yelling, he just groaned, catching the attention of the blonde boxer sitting on the other end of the room, a belt tied around his lower arm and a sharp, thin needle right near a pulsing blue vein.

"What's the matter?" Sharpener inquired as the duo by the laptop looked up.

"Trouble, that's what's the matter," Gohan replied as he jumped up from his chair. "Go wake up Vegeta, we have to go! NOW!"

In a flash, Sharpener had both used and disposed of the syringe he had used to shoot heroin into his system, slipping it into a pocket to make sure that no evidence was left behind. A quick slap across the cheek was enough to wake up the slumbering assassin, who sat up grumbling, muttering how he would kill whoever had the nerve to disrupt his sleep again. After the blonde ran him through the situation quickly, he was up and running down the secret exitway without uttering a single word.

While both Sharpener and Yamcha also hurried their way through the long hallway that would lead to the empty store out back, Gohan glanced across the room quickly to see if he had left anything behind that really shouldn't be found. He heaved a little sigh in relief when he noted this wasn't the case. He then hurried his way over to the salon table, sliding open a drawer and rummaging through a stack of papers.

His eyes glimmered brightly when he found it, a small, fiendish smirk gracing his features. If his father was coming by for an unexpected visit, it only seemed so fair to the drug runner to leave him a surprise behind as well...

* * *

Goku wiped a trickle of sweat from his brow as he sat in the back of the surveillance van. His hand was clasped around his revolver tightly, ready to draw the weapon at any given time. As his onyx eyes watched the digital clock slowly creep towards midnight, he felt his anxiety bubbling in his chest like molten lava.

Apparently Krillin had taken note of this, for the bald cop laid a hand on his partner's shoulder, and gave a reassuring smile when Goku looked at him.

"We're gonna get him buddy, I'm sure we will." While Krillin's words were meant to be soothing, they did anything but calm the black-haired man's senses. True, he was certain that he could find a least some trace of Gohan here; it was a gut feeling and it was so strong that it practically brought the bile to his throat. Yet, he wasn't sure how this situation should make him feel. For all he knew he could just storm in on his own son lounging around lazily, and the first thing that he would have to do was slap a set of handcuffs on his wrists and take him to the police station. It wouldn't exactly be a fatherly thing to do.

He glanced at the clock once more. Only one minute until all the digits would turn to zero, and it would be time to exit the vehicle and begin the raid. Silence prevailed in the van as every man present, that being Goku, Krillin and a small arrestation team consisting of eight members, slowly waited for the time to tick away.

And then a soft beeping noise rang throughout the vehicle. All members of the arrestation team stormed out of the van like a bullet from the barrel of a gun. Goku and Krillin followed as quickly as they could, and the taller one of the duo was glad to see that the team of specially trained officers had halted by the door, waiting to receive command from him.

"Men!" The police chief bellowed, making sure that he had made himself audible to everyone present. "I will break down this door momentarily. After that, we will search the entire building, and my that I mean every last inch of it. I want to make sure that we find every secret passageway and every sneaky little route that can be found around here. Once you do find something noteworthy, you are to contact me straight away. Have I made myself clear?"

The collective "Yes sir!" was all that he needed to hear.

With as much force as he could muster, Goku kicked the triplex door with the sole of his shoe. The entire thing creaked loudly as it flew from its hinges, landing halfway across the coffee house. The arrestation team flowed inside like ants swarming a sweet apple pie, searching through every corner of the room.

It didn't take long for them to find something. As cliché as it may have sounded, the door at the back of the coffee corner led down to a basement that seemed to be way too big for a store this size. When Goku was called over for further inspection, the cop slowly descended down the steps with his gun held high. His dark eyes scanned every bit of his surroundings as he walked down the cold, grey hallway, noting the many graffiti tags that littered the walls and the small crumbling tears in the walls. If his son truly had been hiding out here, he certainly hadn't opted for a warm and welcoming place.

There was a door to his right after a few dozen feet in. It was heavy and didn't budge at the first instant, but when Krillin came to assist him it slowly slid open, revealing one of the strangest rooms Goku had ever seen. All the furniture was mismatched and seemed to be either second-hand or just taken straight from the junkyard, with the exception of one armchair

The fabric looked more than just a little expensive, as were the studded inlays that decorated the armrests. When the middle-aged cop did a lap around it, he noticed a small, white envelope pricked to the backrest with letteroper.

With quivering fingers, Goku tore the envelope loose and emptied its contents. A small paper square fell into his palm, which he quickly unfolded. When he saw what was printed on it, however, his features suddenly turned red in rage, and a loud cry of what couldn't have been anything else but desperation left his throat. The man crumpled the paper in his fist and threw it to the floor angrily, before stomping out of the room, overtaken by rage.

Krillin stared in the direction that his partner had run off to with a quizzical expression. the short police officer bent over to pick up whatever Goku had been so mad at, and tried to smooth over the edges a bit, before studying the content.

What he saw made him draw in his breath. It was a photo of Gohan, and definitely a recent one at that. The drug dealer was reclining in his armchair, smiling at the camera and waving softly. On the bottom right, someone had written six words with a thick black marker.

_Just a little too slow, daddy..._


End file.
